Him
by Eya Silvers
Summary: Who was that boy? Who was he, that boy who looked just like him? "1, 2, and 3, 4, and 5." He had five fingers. This was real. He was real. Who was he?
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, first story in English on this fandom... I already published it but there were a lot of mistakes and I took my time to add stuff and things there and there... So this is an edited version of Him._

 _Rated T, because of the swear words and the angst, drama, and everything. But I didn't forget to humour things a little, because I fricking love humour._

 _Ships: Hints of Scira? Hints of Sterek? Hints of Newtmas, of Scallison, Stydia? I don't know, I mixed everything, and it's all subtext very sub..._

 _I don't know what to say except that you can now enjoy the edited version!_

* * *

 **Him**

First chapter

That night _he_ knocked at the door, his dad was out because of some robbery in the neighborhood. Stiles wasn't worried, the Sheriff was frequently leaving in the middle of the night for his job. Beacon Hills was a nice town, though full of danger. Let's not even start talking about the supernatural stuff.

It was over, it was really over, he kept repeating to himself. The Onis were gone. The Nogitsune too. He was fine. Everything was fine. Everyone was safe. Almost everyone.

That night _he_ knocked at the door, Stiles was in his bedroom. He was streched out on the bed, pillows on his stomach, still clothed, shoes still on, lost in his thoughts. He still hadn't done his homework for the next day but he didn't care.

He didn't care much these days.

He was still having nightmares every time he closed his eyes and he had trouble sleeping, but it was nothing compared to what he had been through a few weeks ago. So he judged himself lucky, and he didn't complain.

As soon as he heard the knocking, he pushed the pillows, slowly got up and walked down the stairs.

"Dad, it's you?" he called.

Though the Sheriff wasn't supposed to come back within the hour.

Maybe it was Scott then. His best friend sometimes came to see if Stiles was okay, but he usually barged into the house by the window. Maybe werewolves were allergic to doors.

He stopped in front of the door.

If he had checked into the peephole, he wouldn't have opened the door.

He didn't check the peephole. He opened the door.

"I thought you were busy with the – oh god."

He just stood there, mouth hanging open, too shocked to even blink.

That wasn't right. That couldn't be.

"Oh god." he repeated mindlessly. "You... no."

And with that, he just closed the door in front of _his_ face.

It couldn't be. It was impossible.

Scott had bit him and Kira had killed him. Stiles had seen his skin turn to cement and his body collapse to durn to dust, evaporating in the air like a fly. He had seen him die. He had seen it.

He couldn't be back.

The hammering started over.

"Excuse me?" Stiles heard the voice from behind the door. "I won't hurt you! Just let me come in, please!"

Stiles felt his consciousness slip away so he held up his hand and slapped himself across the face. It hurt. Vivid pain. It didn't stop the hammering.

That voice. That so familiar voice and so hated voice. _His_ voice.

"GO AWAY!" Stiles screamed as he clenched his shaky hands. "GO AWAY FROM ME!"

The hammering ceased.

He had to call someone. He had to call Scott. Or Lydia. Or anyone.

("If you do that" he thought, "they're going to think you've gone mad or sleep-walking again. They're gonna be worried.")

How could he tell he wasn't inventing the scene?

"Please..." _he_ said, and Stiles let go a faint whimper. "I don't know where I am. Can you just... tell me?"

Stiles held up the hand that slapped his cheek and slowly counted his fingers.

1

2

3

"Please?"

"Just SHUT UP!" Stiles yelled.

He started over.

1

2

3

4

5

He had five fingers.

Five fucking fingers. On both hands. Five plus five equals ten. He had ten fingers. Ten.

Stiles let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't hallucinating. He was fine. No demon, no evil fox, no dementia, maybe just PTSD.

That had to be it, PTSD.

It had to be.

When he looked at the door, it was wide open.

And the boy was in front of it. Stiles should have checked if the door was really locked.

Stiles let out a horrified scream and fell backwards in his attempt to keep away from _him_.

"GO AWAY! YOU'RE NOT REAL!"

He shut his eyes and took his head between his hands, rocking back and forth, back and forth, forth and back.

"You're not real." he kept moaning. "You're not – you're not real."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and almost fainted from the terror that rushed in him. He was immobilized, completely panicked. He started hyperventilating.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you... huh... A-are you okay?"

He couldn't even look at that _monster_ , he couldn't speak nor move, his lungs wouldn't fill with air though he inhaled like a madman, his breath was frenetic. He wouldn't open his eyes but he felt the world tangling around him, spinning, twirling, and he felt suddenly nauseous.

Stiles suddenly felt the panic attack grow inside him and he brutally stood up and, without looking at the _monster_ , he leaned his head on the wall.

("Just breathe normally. Breathe, dammit!")

His lungs craved for air and he couldn't bring it for them but he tried so much to breathe and he just couldn't and he felt dizziness flow to him. His strength left his body and he fell back to the ground. He shook like a leaf, he was weak as a leaf, he felt like he was going to break any second now. Black dots danced in front of his eyes. His heart was completely erratic.

He didn't want to faint.

("Breathe. Just breathe, Stiles. BREATHE!")

The _monster_ was talking frenetically but it just made it worse. Stiles saw its chapped lips moving and that _fucking_ voice – that voice was like a serpent ready to strike at your every step. he felt like he was going to implode or having a heart attack.

("Where the hell are Lydia's lips when you need them? - JUST FRICKING BREATHE")

A cold liquid suddenly rushed to his face and he let out a strangled scream, raising his hand to protect himself, and that is when suddenly he took the largest breathe he had ever taken because he just wanted to scream until his throat bled, or cry his eyes out, or maybe both – so he breathed.

The glass the boy emptied on his face fell and shattered in a dozen pieces.

Stiles slowly stood up and judged his savior. Water and tears and sweat rolled down his face.

"Why did you do that?" he murmured.

The boy was looking at him in apprehension and curiosity, but confusion was the most present.

"I wasn't going to let you die." _he_ replied.

("Why did you save me if I am the thing you'd love to see dead?")

"Why did you come back? Why are you HERE?!"

"Do I know you?"

"Don't act like you don't know, asshole."

"I don't know. Okay? I don't know."

Both voices sounded the same. Both faces looked the same. Brown eyes and brown eyes. Moles on the exact same places.

Fragile pale skin and rough tanned epidermis. Shaky hands and bloody nails. Teen clothes and apocalyptic attire. Terror and despair.

"Who are you?" _he_ asked.

"You know too damn well who I am." Stiles answered sharply even if his guts churned with fear.

"Honestly, I'm sure I don't."

Stiles' eyes flew to the baseball bat they always kept in the hallway and he nearly threw himself at it to threaten the boy. In response, he just raised his hands as if to insist he wasn't armed nor dangerous.

Like Stiles cared.

"Wow. Calm down, okay?"

"I'M NOT GONNA FRICKING CALM DOWN!"

"We can just talk, okay? Just talk. Please."

The more Stiles observed the boy, the more he noticed a few mistakes.

His hair seemed shorter and it had apparently been a while since he last washed it. He was skinnier but more muscular, like he was used to run. He didn't have those dark circles under his eyes and those were alert, quick, smart. He didn't have that ounce of nothingness floating in his pupils.

The boy put his hand on the bat, slowly lowering it down, and Stiles numbly followed the lead.

Once the bat was less threatening, the boy, who was still in that weird position like he was ready to start running to jump out the window and flee a long way away, he put a hand where his heart was.

"I'm Thomas. You?"

The boy looked like he was expecting an answer.

"Stiles." he finally let out.

His brain, which seemed to be frozen earlier, started to get back to work.

The teenager in front of him wasn't that screwed up duplicate of himself. It wasn't the Nogitsune's style to show up looking like a dazed apocalyptic survivor. No, the Nogitsune wouldn't have done that. He prefered possessing people, strife, pain, chaos, and all that stuff. Then what was he?

"Who are you?"

"Thomas." the boy responded, frowning.

"I mean what are you? An experiment turned wrong? A demi-Stiles created to kill the original? A shapeshifter?"

"No, I'm just Thomas. Can you tell me where I am?"

"You're in my house, duh."

Now that Stiles knew it wasn't the Nogitsune, he felt a whole lot safer. His sarcasm came back as well.

The Thomas boy didn't seem to understand.

"Is that a new test?"

"What do you mean a new test? This is just where I live."

The boy fell silent. He didn't look like the chatty kind unlike Stiles.

"Why do you look like me?" Stiles finally asked as the question burned his tongue since the beginning.

The boy frowned. "Do I look like you?"

"Hell, if I had a twin, that would be you!" Stiles yelled. "Someone should have warned me that scientists already created the T-1000. Has science gone that far already to create my brother twin?! "

"I wouldn't be surprised."

He certainly didn't talk that much, but he had a glimmer in his eyes that Stiles identified as raging curiosity. Robots weren't curious, so the boy couldn't be a Terminator. It was really weird, looking at those brown eyes that looked so much like his... It happened before, but it wasn't interest that gleamed into his pupils, it was pure hatred, tricky and mad fury, and void.

Stiles didn't know why, but he knew that this Thomas doppelgänger wasn't going to harm anyone.

He tightened his grip on the bat and pointed it at Thomas non-menacingly.

"Look, I'm just gonna go upstairs, okay? You stay here. Don't run away, don't do anything stupid like... whatever, just stay here. I'll be right back."

Stiles ran upstairs as fast as he could, hurried into his messy bedroom where the white screen of his laptop lightened the room plunged into darkness, grabbed his phone and leapt downstairs.

"If you're gone, I swear I'm going to-"

The boy, Thomas, was gone as he predicted. Stiles groaned.

"Awesome. If he bumps into my dad, I'm gonna be in so much trouble..."

"I'm here."

Stiles jumped in surprise and turned around. Thomas was standing in the middle of the living-room, next to the dinner table. He seemed to be looking around the place, especially at the micro-wave that seemed to interest him at the highest point.

As Stiles approached him, he was suddenly hit by the scent of the boy. Musk, dirt, sweat and fear. It stank.

"Whoa, since when did you take a shower or changed your clothes?" Stiles exclaimed.

"About two days... Let's say I didn't really have time." Thomas answered as he stopped playing with the micro-wave. "So this is your house? Do you live here on your own?"

"You sure ask a lost of questions, buddy. No, I live here with my dad."

The boy stared at him, and it was like Stiles could read his mind. It wasn't hard to understand his feelings because Stiles knew every single expression his face showed.

"You don't have a dad, do you?" the hyperactive teenager said, feeling guilty.

"No."

"I'm sorry." Stiles whispered awkwardly. "But do you have any family I can contact, any friends...?"

He was starting to believe that thing he read once somewhere as he was lazing about in the internet: you always have a twin on this planet you're not even related to. He's here and you'll probably never meet him. And Stiles thought that his twin was that kid. Who didn't seem like a kid, more like a young adult.

Thomas looked at Stiles' phone, perplex.

"Any number?" the teen insisted.

Thomas shook his head.

"I-I don't have anything."

"Awesome..." Stiles murmured. "I really needed to have as a twin an orphan and a complete asocial. Thanks destiny." He raised his voice. "Are you sure you come from our universe? Are you even sure you're human?!"

If Thomas could look more perplex, Stiles knew it'd be the end of the world.

"You know what? I'm calling the experts."

Stiles quickly called Scott and rose the phone to his ear.

" _Dude, it's the middle of the night..._ " Scott's voice faintly said.

"Stop pretending you were asleep and move your wolf's ass to mine." Stiles cut. "I need you here right now."

" _What, what is it?!_ " Scott suddenly sounded a lot less sleepy and ready to gut someone for his best friend.

"It's not an emergency – well I don't think it is – but please just hurry up."

" _Give me five minutes._ "

Stiles slided the phone in his pocket and stared at Thomas.

"Who was that?" the weird boy asked, apparently still on nerves.

"Scott, a friend." Stiles quickly replied. "He's used to that kind of stuff, he'll probably find your way back home."

Thomas was eyeing the baseball bat Stiles still held in his left hand. The hyperactive boy felt his glance.

"Look" he began. "I don't ask you to trust him, okay? Just trust me."

"You're the one who screamed at me earlier and told me to go away and now I have to trust you. I don't even know you."

"I... I thought you were someone else." Stiles defended himself.

"Because I look like you, you screamed, that's right?"

Stiles shivered without knowing it.

"Kind of."

(" _Totally_ " said his mind")

"I don't think I really look like you though." Thomas said, surprising Stiles.

"What, you need a mirror so you can see by yourself?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

They didn't have a lot of mirrors in the house and Stiles had to lead him upstairs in the bathroom. Thomas froze in front of his reflection.

He slowly raised a hand to his face and touched his cheekbone stained with blood. He had a cut right under his eye, and he could probably use some antiseptic, which Stiles gave him. Thomas eyed the small bottle and probably decided Stiles didn't want to shove it down his throat in an attempt to kill him because he took it between his gloved fingers and carefully applied it on the light wound. It stung a little. He flinched a bit. Not much.

Stiles stood next to him, and both of their reflections looked at each other in the mirror.

"It's been a while I haven't seen myself." Thomas explained as he ran a hand through his messy and dirty hair. "I didn't have such a tanned skin before... and mud all over me. But I gotta admit, we really are the same."

"You're sweating like a pig. Do you come out of a fight?" Stiles elegently asked.

"Kind of."

Thomas leaned against the sink and turned on the faucet. He splashed water against his face, trying to gain some humanity.

"Is that a yes or a no? Because it's really easier to use yes or no. So what's it gonna be? Yes I come out of a fight or no I just fell in a puddle of mud?"

"You were totally wrong when you said it wasn't the case of an emergency, Stiles."

Scott was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, claws out. Thomas didn't fail to notice them and jumped backwards. Little drops of water trickled down his blue shirt already wetted by sweat. Stiles hurried between the two.

"Whoa, Scott! It's fine! It's not him."

"The last time I saw that other you, he tried to kill us." Scott murmured, his voice dangerously low but they could hear him as if he had shouted. "He part succeeded."

"Not who?" Thomas asked, and Stiles noticed for the second time that his posture was like he was ready to run. As fast as he could. Even though there was no escape from the terrifying McCall.

Scott glanced at him and his face showed all the emotions Stiles had when he first saw the boy.

Disgust. Hatred. Fear. Pain.

Retaliation.

"Are you sure it's not him?" Scott insisted.

Stiles silently blessed their never-ending friendship. They always listened to each other.

"Not who?!" Thomas then shouted.

Stiles looked back at him, and quickly understood the boy had enough.

Thomas straightened his position and his eyes threw knives.

"I don't know where the hell I am, I just woke up on your doorstep and you start screaming at me – I-I was in the middle of a desert on a dead planet and a second after I was standing in a world where everything's screwed up!"

"Dead planet?" Scott repeated, so confused his claws retracted.

"Okay Thomas." Stiles slowly said, gesturing him to calm down. "We're gonna find a way to bring you to... wherever you're from, okay? But I think we may need some help first."

Thomas looked at his thin reflection on the mirror. And he realized how crazy he must have seemed.

His gloved hands were covered in dirt and his nails were brown. He had washed away with the water the traces of past tears that used to be visible from very close on his cheeks. His eyes were old, so old and so broken and the weird thing was that he saw the same thing in Stiles' eyes too. As if he had been through the same stuff.

His fingers wandered in his pant's pocket and he grabbed the wood-carven statuette. Squeeze, release.

"Fine."


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter

Sitting in the back of the car, Thomas silently looked at the outside from behind the window made of cold glass. He felt a lot better, having washed his face and cleaned a bit. He felt more human.

He didn't know if he should trust Scott and Stiles, but he knew he was obligated to as he was stuck with them. Scott seemed to be a genuinly kind person and he reminded him of Chuck. Obviously Chuch wasn't 17, and he was chubby and fragile, Scott had appearent muscles under his clothes and he had those weird claws replacing his nails sometimes. Thomas understood that Scott was a kind but powerful person. Better to be on his side.

Stiles was physically the same as Thomas. His voice, his features, everything. But his personnality? His leg bounced all the time, he couldn't stay still and he always seemed to think he had to replace silence by excessive talking. But the smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes. Thomas knew he was trying to hid something just like he knew Newt refused to talk about how he got his limp.

Scott sometimes peeked at him to make sure he wasn't going to do anything stupid like opening the door and jumping outside, but no, the boy seemed to be buried deep in his thoughts. No expression appeared on his tanned face, nothing that could prove what he was thinking about; and Stiles drove.

"We're almost at Derek's loft." the hyperactive said.

He had left a message for his dad when he'd come back, saying that he was out for the night. He didn't really explain the situation, mostly because he knew the Sheriff would be too worried if he did. But he knew his dad was going to call him when he'll realize his son wasn't home.

"How are you going to find my way back if I don't know how the hell I got here in the first place?" Thomas asked, breaking the ice.

"I called a man." Scott explained. "He's my boss, he's a veterinary – well actually, he's more of our druid. Huh..."

"Scott." Stiles warned as he knew his friend sometimes lost himself in his explanations.

"He's an expert in that kind of stuff" Scott continued and he gave Thomas a reassuring smile. "Trust me."

"That's what Stiles said when he called you and you don't have a clue about what happened to me."

"Yeah, well..."

Thomas straightened on the backseat, his gaze directly focused on Scott's on the mirror.

"I don't know what you are, but I don't think you're completely human, right?" he said.

Scott awkwardly shifted his position and Stiles grimaced.

"I saw your nails... or claws." Thomas continued, merciless.

"Yeah, about that-" Stiles began.

"I'm a werewolf." Scott snapped.

"Oh god." the hyperactive murmured.

"If we're going to find help from Deaton, the best is to warn Thomas!"

"I always wonder how you keep your ass out of trouble."

"The thing is, I kind of trust Thomas. He has your smell, plus dirt and wild."

"Am I the only one who feels left alone?" Thomas said.

"Sorry. But you really smell good."

Thomas didn't know what to do with that information so he shrugged.

"If that keeps me away from being eaten by your kind, then thanks, I guess."

Stiles parked the car in front of Derek's loft and looked at the rearview mirror where Thomas' face appeared.

"You're okay with werewolves?" he asked, really surprised.

"I've seen a lot of klunk last week." Thomas replied, sibylline.

Scott and Stiles eyed each other, eyebrows raised high, and the human got out of the car.

Scott and his muscular figure led the way and Stiles stayed stuck to Thomas. They were exactly the same height and they walked the same way. Scott found that very disturbing.

The Alpha stopped in front of the huge sliding door.

"I think it would be better for you to stay here." he said to Thomas. "We've fought a... another person who looked like Stiles, just like you look like him, and we've kept bad memories from that."

"Fine." Thomas replied.

"I'll stay too." Stiles snapped. "He's in my care."

Thomas stared at him, surprised. "I'm in your care?"

"Yeah. I mean, you knocked at _my_ door, right?"

"But you told me to go away and threatened me with a bat."

"I did, and then I understood that you weren't what I thought you were, and we started to talk like completely normal teenage boys who just found out they had an exact twin."

"So... that's why I'm in your care?"

"Basically yeah. Actually I don't want to see my ganger having his throat ripped out by my friends."

"What does that have to do with you staying here? Scott can handle the situation, he's a big guy!"

"Yeah, well... I don't know, I feel like staying here, y'know?"

"You're gonna have to explain that story about the other you, because I really don't get it."

"Maybe when you'll tell me your backstory, buddy."

"Then we have come to an agreement, shank."

Stiles laughed.

"Shank? What the hell is that?"

"It's just a nickname." Thomas answered with a smile that disappeared within seconds. "Forget it."

Stiles quickly noticed it was really hard to force a smile out of him.

"Okay, Stiles and not-Stiles, you stay here." Scott interrupted but he was smiling from their exchange.

He slided the door, went inside and ran it back.

Stiles sighed and slowly sat down, his back against the door. Thomas mimicked him.

Silence fell between them.

The hallway to the loft was very dark and a single light bulb enlightened it. Shadows circled the two teenagers.

"So..." Stiles murmured as he counted his fingers, something that was now a mannerism to didn't actually know where to start and the more he thought that he talked to someone who had the exact same look and voice as him, the more it felt weird, but he couldn't just stay silent. "That's really disturbing."

"Don't even talk about it." Thomas replied.

"I mean, I feel like I'm talking to myself!"

"Yeah. At least my name isn't Stiles."

"What, you got a thing against my name?" Stiles said, falsely offended.

"I've seen worse." Thomas slowly murmured.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I'm practically the only one of my friends who has a normal name."

"So you really have friends. I thought you were like an asocial. None of your friends have a phone number?"

"They don't have phones."

"Are you kidding? Everyone has phones. It's the frickin' twenty-first century! Where the hell are you from, Tatooine?"

The door opened before Thomas could answer and they both nearly fell on each other with surprise.

"You okay?" Scott asked, eyeing the two.

"Yeah, no problem." Stiles said as he got up, wincing and rubbing his back. "They're ready?"

"I think they're fine. I'll keep an eye on Isaac just in case."

The two similar boys entered the loft.

Derek was already on his feet, and Stiles noticed his look when his eyes fell on Thomas. It was a killer look. He always had that killer look on his face but that one was his _real_ killer look and Stiles silently prayed for him to stay calm.

Peter was here too, comfortably displayed on the couch, and he seemed pretty interested. Isaac was leaning against the beam in front of the couch, his eternal blue scarf around his neck. He had that killer look too. Stiles knew why.

Because of Allison.

"Guys, this is Thomas." Stiles introduced as he patted his twin's shoulder. "He's a nice guy."

"Hey..." Thomas said.

"It's good." Derek suddenly said, intensely observing Thomas' figure. "He doesn't smell like the nogitsune."

"Yeah, that's because he's not." Stiles sarcastically interrupted. "He's human – well, I guess. That's what he says."

"He could be lying." Isaac groaned, and Scott could swear he saw the blond's nails turn into claws. "He could be fooling us like he's used to. He could be tricking us again!"

"I'm not... tricking you." Thomas replied, his voice steady. "I swear."

"I propose we chain him to a chair or maybe drown him to get some info." Isaac continued, and this time, Scott clearly saw his eyes turn yellow. He prepared himself to jump. "Like why he killed ALLISON!"

"Now that gets interesting..." Peter murmured.

"No one is going to chain or drown anyone, okay?!" Scott exclaimed, his alpha voice expanding into the loft. "Stiles and I, we're 100% sure Thomas isn't the Nogitsune."

"Are you sure, Stiles?" Derek asked, arms crossed.

Stiles took a breath. "Yeah. At the beginning I really thought he was, but-"

"Stiles had a panic attack." Thomas completed. "So I filled a glass with water and threw it on his face."

"The glass?" Isaac said without thinking twice.

"Yeah, the glass, that's why I've got the face covered in bruises – what do you think, dumbass?" Stiles shouted, full of sarcasm, as he pulled on his shirt still a bit wet.

"He's not the Nogitsune." Scott harshly ended.

Thomas chose this moment to clear his throat. "I don't really know who you guys are."

Stiles grabbed his twin's arm and made the presentations, pointing with the finger every person he talked about.

"The big, stuck-up and sour guy is Derek Hale." he said as Derek gave him the 'I'll rip your throat out... with my teeth' look. "He's a werewolf like Scott, and an Alpha. But I'm sure he's got a heart as sweet as a gummy bear once you get to know him. But I do know him and I still haven't seen that side of him."

"That's Peter Hale, Derek's uncle. He was an Alpha once but Derek killed him, then he was back from the dead – long story, involving a destroyed party, brain-washing and a traumatized banshee – and he's completely useless now."

Peter sighed dramatically and shrugged.

"And the scarfy seventeen-years-old guy here is Isaac Lahey. He's a werewolf too, everyone here is a werewolf but me, but he's a Beta. Yellow eyes, not red. He's a bit creepy and a lot claustrophobic but he likes dogs. And we have to support him, we don't really have many choices but to coexist, so..."

"Stiles." Derek warned as Isaac gave the finger to the hyperactive. "Shut up."

"I know, you love me."

"Where's Deaton?" Scott suddenly asked. "He said he'd be here."

"And I am, Scott." the vet said as he descended the spiral staircase.

"And HE!" Stiles exclaimed, now pointing at the black man. "He's Deaton. He's a druid vet. He's the boss when it's about supernatural stuff when supernatural people can't explain what that supernatural stuff is about."

"Hello Thomas." Deaton said, smiling at the boy. "I heard you have a problem. That's not every day we stumble upon a second Stiles."

Thomas opened his mouth to start talking, maybe ask a question or a hundred, but Deaton put a hand on the couch Peter was on and offered him a seat.

Peter sighed.

"If I am bothering you, you just have to tell me." he said as he got up from the couch. "I'll just be somewhere where people can't double themselves."

And on that, he reached the door, gave them a last sarcastic glance and walked away.

Thomas sat where Deaton offered him a seat, and Stiles sat next to him. Derek stayed in the same position as he was before and only his frowning deepened, Scott put his butt on one of the two chairs and Deaton settled down in front of Thomas in the other chair, while Isaac snarked.

"We could do a firecamp." he said, acerbic. "I can bring the guitar."

"Thomas." Deaton began, his eyes locked on the boy's. "I need to understand your problem, and for that, I need you to tell me everything that has happened to you before you got here."

"Then it's gonna be a long talk." Thomas said.

"And we are ready to hear it."

Thomas looked around him, saw all the faces focused on him, and he ran a hand through his messy black hair.

"Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

_Guest: Glad to know someone likes it! :D Answer to your question: nope, there will be no slash in this story. I know too damn well that it's very hard to find a story with no slash so I wanted to create one like that..._

 _This chapter is really short. Sorry. But more will come soon and the plot is building!_

* * *

Third chapter

By the time he finished talking, he felt like hours had passed. Outside, it was entirely black, and only the moon offered little samples of light in this part of the world. Thomas's throat was dry. Maybe because he had screamed too much a few hours ago, plus the fact that he just resumed in a long hour everything that happened, everything that he remembered.

Well, not everything.

He didn't tell them about Chuck. Maybe because he didn't feel ready yet. Maybe because he thought it was easier to ignore the problem for now.

Everyone around him considered him with a frown and he felt again like the greenie.

"So right after the soldiers came, your head started to hurt, and you fainted, is that right?" Deaton asked, his gaze not leaving Thomas's.

The teenager nodded. "At first I thought that the pain was caused by the light, y'know, the light of the real sun blinded me and the sand was scorching, so I didn't really pay any attention. But then... it got worse and I saw weird stuff... Like an opening into the air, an ajar door..."

"You ran to it."

Thomas swallowed with difficulty. "I don't know what I was thinking. I only worked on nerves, so... yes, I ran. I guess I tried to escape those soldiers, or whatever those guys were. I wanted to..." ( _go back to Chuck_ )

He didn't say it. He closed his mouth shut and pressed his thin lips together.

Deaton let a warm hand on Thomas's shoulder as if he was trying to comfort him. Thomas tried to smile but he quickly understood the corners of his lips wouldn't twitch and his smile turned into a wince.

The longer Stiles looked at Thomas's face, the more he wanted to puke. He could imagine too well that teenage boy who looked so much like him surviving deathly trials, losing the people he cared about, going through pain and loss and coming into that lab only to find out he was special, some kind of a survivor. He could imagine that too damn well.

Maybe because he had been through events like those two weeks ago.

Deaton stayed silent, probably in deep thoughts, and the others were still frowning.

"Either you got knocked out really well to come up with this harebrained story, either you live in a different dimension." Derek said. His gaze stayed focused on the ground, and he had folded his arms.

"I had enough of memory loss." Thomas spat.

"Well he isn't lying either." Scott commented. "I listened to his heartbeat the whole time and it didn't went up, it didn't went down."

"Y'know, you should all listen to me more." Stiles declared. "If I say someone's evil, that person's evil. I was right with Matt, yes? So when I say Thomas is nice, everyone should agree."

"Yeah, your evil-senses didn't tingle that much a few weeks ago." Isaac snapped. Everyone turned to him as if the Beta had lost his mind but Isaac didn't seem to care.

Stiles's gaze didn't trail down from the werewolf's face and his features became rigid, as if it was frozen in ice. His eyes were suddenly cold and void of emotion but hatred.

"Maybe no one told you, but I tried to kill myself because of what _it_ had committed. I thought that if I died, the world would be better off without me. I know I was right. So stop blaming me for something that I couldn't control, for something that made me go through hell and back, because yes, I would've chosen to stay in hell if it meant for Allison to come back." His cold tone sent a shiver down Thomas's spine. It took him some time to acknowledge that the hatred wasn't directed toward Isaac, but toward himself.

Isaac blinked a few times. Maybe he was thinking of a good comeback but Scott squeezed his arm and a glance at his Alpha stopped him.

Deaton suddenly stood up and took a very enigmatic face. "I think I might have a clue." He broke the ice and for that everyone was thankful.

Thomas looked at him. He was certainly thinking that the druid had the answers to all of his questions.

"It is as old as time, but it has never been proved." Deaton clarified, staring at the empty air. "There is a theory about this and a lot of my colleagues talk about it but they've never actually _seen_ it."

"What is it?!" they all claimed.

"If he says time-travel, dad's gonna kill me." Stiles mumbled. The darkness in his eyes was gone and Scott let out a sigh of relief.

"Parallel worlds." Deaton replied.

"I've heard about it once when I was a kid." Derek nodded. "But my mother told me it was a legend."

"If you wonder, I have an other idea: the world we live in is just an illusion and either Thomas' world is real and he fell into the same illusion as ours, either we're all in an other world without realizing it and we've dreamt about our lives here from the start."

"Rejected." Stiles refused. "What's happening here is way too real."

"What we've fought, what we've been through, all of that was too real to be fake." Scott added, taking Stiles's side.

Isaac and Derek agreed with the boys, Deaton pouted.

"Because werewolves are real for you?" Thomas suddenly said, taking them all off-guard. "I don't know about you guys, but I bet your story is as crazy as mine."

Stiles swept away his words with a hand gesture. Then he froze, hand in the air.

(" _He could be right_.")

"Let's just stick with the parallel world idea, Deaton." Derek suggested.

Scott nodded. "If parallel worlds _do_ exist, how the hell did Thomas find his way here?"

A loud knocking suddenly resonnated and all the heads turned to the door. Isaac's eyes immediatly shone yellow and he groaned.

Derek gestured him to stay still and he silently made his way to the door. Scott followed him, thinking they may use the strength of an Alpha.

Deaton had stood up along with Thomas and Stiles. Once again, the hyperactive noticed how tensed his twin's body was.

Derek mouthed "at three" at Scott who nodded.

Once that count expired, they brutally opened the door.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you all for your short but amazing reviews! :D I wasn't expecting that feedback. I think I'll add one chapter per day, or maybe one every two days..._

 _Guest: They might appear, but I'm not saying yes or no otherwise it would spoil everything ;)_

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Fourth chapter

They brutally opened the door and just behind it stood a petite young woman with strawberry blonde hair and an anxious look on her face. She was barefoot, in her nightgown, and her feet were scratched, bruised. She was violently shivering, blue lips and rosy cheeks.

"Lydia?" Scott spoke up as he retracted his claws.

Thomas noticed how everyone was still tensed even though they seemed to know this girl. She was pretty, he thought. Not Teresa pretty, because Teresa had a different kind of beauty, but this girl reminded him of a blooming and bloody flower.

"I was just going out b-because I felt like I needed some fresh air and I don't know how I got here..." the girl stammered, her eyes wide with fear.

"But the last time that happened-"

"I found a dead body, thank you for reminding me, Scott."

Lydia's barbs were well-known and it was an enourmous part of her personnality, along with her resolute cleverness that never failed her. A few years ago, she would have been completely panicked in a situation like this one; walking forever without ever acknowledging it until stumbling upon Derek's loft. She would have called someone. Done something. But never gone inside the apartment.

Lydia's spirit resembled Stiles' these days. _She didn't care much._ She was tired. Old. Broken. But not fragile.

Not fragile but scared.

"Come inside." Derek gently said.

She slowly entered the loft, glancing at everyone in the room – _at who was going to die_ , and Stiles suddenly knew that if she saw Thomas, something bad would happen.

Of course something bad would happen. Something bad _always_ happened. They never had a break. They never could take a breath and cross their fingers for the situation to get better simply because they only had the time to think "oh crap, this is so not gonna end well" and everytime it didn't end well. Especially when Lydia was sleep-walking or whatever she was doing during a banshee moment, and when she was finding herself at their doorstep as Thomas was hanging around.

Stiles tried to quickly hide the teenager behind his back because if she saw him, if she saw him and she scr...

She saw Thomas.

Stiles started couting.

1

Her mouth hung open.

2

She clenched her fists and her whole body tensed in a way he knew too damn well.

3

She shut her eyes. Tightly.

4

She took a deep breath, incapable of controlling her own body, but she tried, she tried so hard.

5

(Five fingers. He had fice fricking fingers. On both hands. Five fingers.)

She held back her scream.

Her hand had flown to her mouth and she winced with pain as if something was trying to tear her vocal cords from the inside but she held back her scream.

Stiles let go a sigh of relief and Thomas tried to see what the hell was happening, totally counfounded.

"It's him-" Lydia whispered, her voice oddly hoarse. She tried to step away but her back hit the door behind her and Scott, being the True Alpha he was, took her hand to comfort her. "It's him-"

"It's not him!" Stiles cried out as Thomas managed to get away from him. "It's not him I swear, it's not!"

And she looked at him, she looked at Thomas with _its_ face in her mind, its pale and sick visage with void in _its_ eyes. Thomas felt all the eyes on him, and for once, it wasn't his fault. Right?

Why was everyone looking at him when this nightie-dressed girl had just magically appeared at Derek's loft, her feet bruised as if she didn't know shoes existed, her green eyes wild and terrified, her mouth opened in a silent but deathly wail.

"Lydia please sit down." Deaton said.

"I am n-not getting near him." Lydia murmured. She couldn't tear her tearful gaze off the teenager. Yes, it was maybe stupid of her, because this boy didn't really look like the Nogitsune, but she still could sense that monster's breath on her neck, his rough bites on her ear, his cold skin pressed to her face wet with tears, she could still feel his presence and his voice and her mental rape.

Deaton looked at Thomas pleadingly. "Thomas, please."

"I'm not going anywhere." Thomas dryly snapped.

Stiles abruptly grabbed him by the arm, aware of the fact that it felt like holding his own arm.

"Look, we have to explain it all to Lydia but first she needs to... avoid you, you get it?"

"I'm not going anywhere." he repeated.

He knew he was being too stubborn but hell, he began to feel pissed off. One of his best friends had died in his arms, then he and the gladers were abducted by soldiers in a chopper, and now he was in a (bloody, would say Newt) parallel world with _fucking_ werewolves. He needed some answers along with the results. He didn't give a damn if he scared _a_ _girl_.

"Do we have to force you?" Derek prompted impatiently as he approached him, maybe a bit too quickly and determined because-

Thomas got brutally rid of Stiles' grip and stepped forward the wolf.

"I'm not going to do any step back because I told you my story, I told you the truth and you still look at me like I'm a freak." he yelled and Derek narrowed his eyes on him, startled. "I am not the freak here. I just happen to look like this guy, and you should really question yourself as to who is the freak here – you're not even human, okay?! And I bet this girl isn't either!"

Lydia flinched. "I am still not getting near him."

"That'll make two of us." Isaac scoffed.

That was too much for Thomas. It seemed like he was going to explode. Having experienced all kind of rejections the last days, now was the moment he couldn't bear it anymore.

He wanted to punch Isaac and make him see what he had seen the last few days and he didn't give a single crap about what happened to this brat to turn him this way – maybe it was the fact that he was a werewolf that galvanized him – and Thomas was too angry right now to think that the answer to Isaac's attitude was maybe someone's death. So he simply calmed down. Actually he seemed calm on the outside but he literally boiled. He needed answers, right here, right now, and he was going to have them.

"Look, I just need to know. Who and what are you? What happened to Stiles? What the hell is going on?"

As Deaton didn't do anything, Scott decided to play his Alpha role. He let go of Lydia's hand after making sure she was okay, and took a step forward.

"Stiles, I think you're the most qualified to explain it all to Thomas." he proposed calmly.

Stiles' head dipped. Scott was right.

"Come on, Thomas." he said.

He knew using force on Thomas didn't work so he never tried to grab him, he just waited for him to follow. Thomas stayed frozen for a moment but eventually he gave up and followed Stiles. His arm brushed against Lydia's and she took a step to the side. He didn't know what to think of the look she gave him in return.

"Okay." Scott said once they were gone. "Lydia, I guess you need some answers too."

She stared at him, nearly offended. "I just nearly screamed at a person I thought was the Nogitsune. Yes, I really do need some answers, Scott."

~Ξ~

Thomas sat down sighing. Stiles behind him did the same.

They were both under the white light of a street lamp and its insect-like humming. They stared into the cold and dark night in front of them. Stiles rubbed his hands together, trying to get some heat. It was unusually cold for California, no wonder Lydia was freezing in her nightie. And she had to walk to arrive here, as he didn't see her car. That too explained her muddy feet.

"I can answer whenever you want, Tommy." Stiles said.

Thomas smiled faintly at the nickname. Newt used to call him that.

He was worried for his friends. He had no idea where they could be, if they were just as lost as him in this world, or still in the desert outside of the maze. He remembered the soldiers dragging them out of the lab filled with corpses, but he didn't know if they had been put inside the chopper. Maybe they were flying away right now, far away from Thomas, but he knew his friends would look for him. That's what he would've done if he was with them and it was Minho who got missing.

"The first question was 'what is Lydia', right?" Stiles asked.

The tanned teen nodded.

"She's a banshee. Banshees are like Joan of Arc, they hear voices inside their heads that tell them morbid stuff, it's kind of like a supernatural radio always on. And they have this... super powerful scream whenever they're scared or feel threatened."

Thomas kept nodding. What Stiles said made perfect sense.

"That's all?" he said.

"About Lydia, outside from the fact that she has an IQ of 170, a little dog named Prada and that she's super awesome at math, yeah."

Stiles felt like he was betraying Thomas by not telling him the real truth but he also knew that he was right not to tell him. It only would make Thomas more on his nerves. How could you tell someone that if Lydia suddenly started to scream like she was possessed it would mean someone was going to die probably horribly?

"Why is everyone suspicious of me?" Thomas then drawled as he turned his head to look directly at Stiles. "What happened to that other duplicate of you? Isaac said he had... he had made you lost someone."

Stiles wanted to chuckle humorlessly, but if he did that he would have seemed crazy. Like he used to be.

"It's... kind of a long story. Actually it all began when Scott, All-Allison and I sacrificed ourselves to save our parents who were being trapped by an evil druid, our, well, our english teacher."

The light above them suddenly flickered and they both looked up. The white bulb went on and off at an erratic interval until it brutally died, leaving them in the darkness. They could only see thanks to the light of Derek's loft by the large windows and the bright moon.

The two boys stood up, their similar eyes scrutinizing the night.

"Power cut?" Thomas suggested, his breath forming a small cloud of steam.

"It's weird, Kira's sleeping as far as I know." Stiles replied and Thomas frowned.

"Who's Kira?"

Stiles got his phone out of his jeans pocket and the powerful light of the screen illuminated both of their faces. "A kitsune. Basically she controls electricity and Scott told me she has a weird fire aura around her, but I can't see that because, well, I'm painfully and ordinarily human."

Thomas's frown deepened. He was utterly lost. "A kitsune?" he repeated. In what kind of world did he fall into...

"Yeah. Or a fox. Not really a fox, because she can't transform into a real fox, y'know, with fur and all, but a trickster." Memories flew to him at his last word and he mentally slapped himself for even thinking about it. Trickster. Fox. God, he just wished he could forget it all. Maybe if he tried to act like nothing ever happened, everything would go back to how it used to be.

Thomas noticed his wince and decided to drop the subject. "So that other you was evil, right?" he asked instead. He didn't know that, by saying this, Stiles's nerves threatened to burst and that he wasn't doing him a favor.

Stiles ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed. "Long story short, I got possessed by a dark kitsune, a demon fox, who then tried to maul everyone. Scott and Kira killed him after he succeeded killing Allison... and Aiden, and now everything's gone back to normal."

He knew too well he was lying to himself, but that's how he dealt with things and that wasn't going to change. Stiles quickly tried to avoid that subject by all means and stared blankly at the road in front of them, the light of his phone frozen on the ground.

"When I saw you on my doorstep – after I had a minor heart attack, I mean – you looked like you were crying." It was possible that he was being a total shit by asking this because Thomas probably had a broken soul just like him, but as he had told his depressive story in two short sentences, he thought it was only fair for Thomas to explain himself too.

Thomas pursed his lips together and stared, expressionless, at the phone in Stiles's hand. Maybe he thought that if he looked at the object long enough he didn't have to tell the truth. Well the truth sucked.

Despite himself, Chuck's chubby face appeared before his eyes and more than ever, he wished he was the one that took the bullet.

All of a sudden they were both blinded by light. It was like getting hit by the headlight of a car at midnight: as surprising as it hurt the eyes.

It was just like that impression when Thomas was running. Confusion, panic, fear, all of that in a haze, a muddled fog. He didn't know what was happening but he had already felt it before.

Warm colors danced before his eyes; red, yellow, white, all of those dazzled him and he yelped, raising his arms to protect his eyes. He fell down and scorching sand ran between his fingers, burned his palms and got caught under his nails. He let out a muffled shout.

Everything was so fast. The world was turning upside down. He didn't know why but all he could think of was Chuck.

Chuck.

The red spreading on his shirt. The little boy's blood on his shaky hands. His eyes as empty as a dead fish as he stopped moving. Thomas' cries. His screams. His punches to get rid of the countless arms around his torso. The sun burning his pupils and the tears digging on his cheeks.

All those memories rushed to him and it seemed like _something_ was trying to attract him against his will. It was like - no, it was exactly what had happened before he found himself at Stiles' doorstep.

So he jerked himself upright and ran. That's what he could do best, running. Escaping from all danger and his problems. Running from the memories and the fear and the pain. Running from the sun.

Then, as violently as it began, the blinding star disappeared and he tumbled frantically. He blinked, his mind trying to comprehend what just happened, but he couldn't see a damn thing, it was all so dark and colors still swung in front of his eyes. The sand was gone, replaced by the cold asphalt of the road, and the only thing that told him he hadn't imagined all that was the vivid pain on his skin.

Something violently threw his head on the side. He heard a single crack, blood splatter on his cheeks and something breaking, maybe his nose. Then his vision started to shrink and his brain said 'enough for today'.

Like the weak flame of a candle, his consciousness evaporated.


	5. Chapter 5

_I kept my promise, didn't I? You only had to wait 1 and a half day! I don't have anything else to say, except that the end may surprise you... and that I madly love cliffhangers._

 _Thank you, everyone who follows and reviews this story, I love you guys :D_

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Fifth chapter

Stiles was laying on the ground of the parking lot. He sobbed silently, incapable of crying, curled up into a ball. The asphalt was hard and cold under him, he pressed his hands against his face and hils nails dug into the skin of his cheeks, but the only pain he truly perceived was the one aching his soul.

He felt violated.

The sounds of a short shriek and a distant thump came to his ears and he slowly opened his eyes. His vision was muddled and he still saw colors he was sure didn't appear in front of him but only in his brain. Stiles cautiously pressed his hands on the ground and pushed himself upright. After a moment of hard breathing, he was capable of standing without shaking like a madman.

(" _What the hell is happening to me?_ ")

His entire life seemed to revolve around an endless count of unanswered questions. But one thing was sure: Thomas was the key to this ajar door.

"Thomas?" he called out, his eyes slowly adjusting to the low luminosity. "You here?" A loud roar answered him and his legs entangled, making him fall hard on his butt. This probably saved his life as a large shadow flied by where he stood less than a second ago.

"Thomas?!"

Suddenly the streetlight worked once again and he was able to distinguish the large silhouette of what looked like a crouching animal and its roaring fading away. Someone was thrown on its shoulder and dangled, apparently knocked out. Realization suddenly struck him and he felt useless and weak.

"Stiles!" a voice called out.

He didn't bother to turn around because he knew whose person this voice belonged to.

"They took Thomas-" Stiles gasped. "Scott, they took him-"

"Who took him?" his best friend asked, scrutinizing the night with his wolf vision. "Did you see?"

Stiles allowed his respiration to slow down as he grasped for more air. "I don't know who it was but it looked like a wolf. A werewolf."

Scott helped him to get up and checked him for any body injury, but outside from being shocked, cold and somehow weirdly burnt where his skin wasn't protected by his clothes, Stiles was fine.

"What happened?!" a new voice cried out. It was Lydia running to them, barefoot, her shoulders and her deep neckline covered by a sheet.

"I don't know-" Stiles repeated as he tried to focus. "It... huh, there was a yellow light and it really burnt my eyes... and I fell down and it felt like I was on the lava sand of a beach-" He showed the blisters and the red patches on his palms. "Then it all went back to normal but Thomas wasn't here, and I heard someone knocking him down, and then I saw that half-turned were-psycho take him... Then you arrived – wait, where are the others?"

Scott's eyes were shining red, probably because he sensed danger. He regained control of himself somehow.

"Derek and Deaton both think there might be an attack soon. If I as a banshee felt his arrival, an emissary from an other pack must have felt it too, and this could mean a lot of trouble for us because of Thomas and the Nemeton combined." Lydia spoke up, her gaze focused on Stiles. "They are planning to defend Beacon Hills."

Stiles turned his glance to the road where Thomas had disappeared along with the unknown car. He nervously rubbed his hands together and counted his fingers without thinking about it.

"They were right."

~Ξ~

"You really need to sleep, Stiles."

"For the last time, Scott, I'm not tired!"

"How long has it been since you last took a nap? I can smell your fatigue."

"I'm aware of how you sense my feelings, chemical signals and all, and you know I hate when you do that. And nope, still not tired."

"Stiles, you have enormous bags under your eyes and for now we can't do anything for Thomas."

"Lydia, don't get involved, please...!"

They were both trying to get him to bed but Stiles, being the annoying stubborn bastard he was, flatly refused.

Lydia huffed and tugged on the sheet around her shoulders. Scott was slightly amused but also concerned for his best friend. He laid a hand on Stiles's shoulder and the pale teen raised his gaze to his Alpha's.

"I'm not sleeping til we find Thomas." he repeated. He had been repeating that for an hour now and he didn't care if he seemed and felt like he was going to faint.

"We're gonna find him." Scott smiled. "I swear. Tomorrow morning."

"It is tomorrow morning." Stiles snapped. "It's actually four past midnight."

"When the sun'll come out, then."

"No, we have to find him right now. This were-psycho doesn't seem to be as kind as you are, Scott, he fricking knocked out Thomas and abducted him, and who knows what he wants to do with him, okay? Thomas might get seriously injured and/or killed, and I don't want blood on my hands. Not again."

Scott stared at his best friend. He could perfectly understand Stiles's motivations. He could understand that he wanted to save Thomas, that he couldn't have more blood on his hands than he already did.

"You're not going to." Scott promised him. His hand on Stiles's shoulder squeezed it, sharing warmth and hope with the pale boy. "Y'know Derek and Isaac are on it, and I trust more Derek's smell than mine."

Stiles tried to think about something witty but nothing came to his exhausted mind. Scott won this fight and the teen huffed in displeasure, but eventually he laid back on his bed and looked at the ceiling.

"You should rest too, Lydia." Scott advised to the girl who stood next to him. She wasn't shivering anymore because they were now in the heat of Stiles's house, but she was still wrapped in the sheet. Lydia Martin wasn't a chaste person as she often wore short dresses that were showing a little too much of her cleavage, but this nightie was _really_ low-cut and her panties could easily be seen if she bent, so just in case, she was still holding the sheet. "It's a school night."

She looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown two heads. "We're always skipping classes, Scott, and anyway, my grades are fine. You should worry more for yours and Stiles's."

"Mines are fine." the pale teen interjected.

"You shut up." Lydia replied as she brandished a finger before his nose. "You need sleep and... your health is more important than your grades."

Stiles mumbled something but eventually he gave up and buried his face in his pillow. Scott and Lydia silently got out of his room at the same time Stiles started snoring. Scott's phone buzzed. He took it out and showed the message to his friend and they read it together.

 _It's a pack. - Derek_

Lydia looked exasperated but not so surprised. Scott frowned and quickly called Derek for more informations.

"A werewolf pack?" he asked as soon as the Hale picked up.

"Well at least it smells like it." Derek answered. He had to be currently tracking them because he was whispering. "There has to be an Alpha but I didn't see him, and it stinks like wet wolf cubs."

"How many? Can we take them down?"

"Maybe less than half a dozen, and they are young. High school young."

Scott sighed and Lydia raised her gaze at him.

"You think what I'm thinking?" she said with an unamused smile.

"Yeah. The Alpha needs power, so he bits students."

"Easier to control, naive, but still powerful." she nodded.

"We can't take them down." Scott said to Derek. "They're just teenagers and they have no idea that what they're going to do is wrong."

"But what exactly are they going to do...?" Lydia muttered to herself.

"I knew you'd say that." Derek replied. "But you know we can't save everyone. No one willingly abducts someone with good intentions, Scott!

"We aren't killing them." Scott repeated, shaking his head. "It would mean we're as bad as they are, and we're not. Whatever these guys want to do with Thomas, the Alpha is still manipulating his Betas in exchange of the bite, beauty, strength, health, or maybe safety. Maybe some of the Betas didn't even asked to be turned."

"But we don't even know this Thomas guy. Do you really want to risk our lives to save him?"

Scott stared at the snoring figure of Stiles, tangled in his bedsheets. Stiles who had wanted to save Thomas, Stiles who oddly trusted his doppelgänger without a second thought, and Scott started to realize that Stiles and Thomas were connected. How, why, he didn't know, but he had a feeling that their connection was deep. After all, they were exactly the same person. And what if it had been Stiles instead of Thomas? Stiles living for years with scientists, torn away from his parents, sent in a maze with no memory at all but his fake name, then facing dangers and death many times in a day, seeing one of his friend getting killed in front of him. All of these events could have easily turned him into Thomas.

The thing is, whatever the hell Stiles could be, he would face danger. In Thomas's world, he would have been injured and broken. Here, he had been injured and broken. His soul was irreperable, it wasn't like his old Jeep that just needed some duct tape, no one could fix a soul with some band-aids. Time healed. Scars stayed.

Scott was an hopeless romantic and forever optimistic but he wasn't sure that Stiles would ever be okay.

"We're saving him." he firmly said. It felt like he was talking about his best friend instead of a guy he just met.

If Derek sighed, he didn't hear it. "Okay. You're the Alpha, but I still gotta say that what we're about to do is stupid."

Scott ignored him. "Where's the pack?" he asked for the last time.

Derek's breath answered before his voice did. "At the old Argent's house."

~Ξ~

Thomas woke up with nausea. He instantly cringed, his throat as dry as the desert he used to be in. A vivid pain harassed his nose and he was hoped it wasn't broken. Dried blood stuck on his lips and nostrils. He tried to breathe by the mouth.

Thomas slowly opened his eyes only to find himself tied up to a chair by the torso, arms, and legs. He could only move his head, and that's what he did; he looked around him, searching for something that could help him get out of this crap.

He was in a dark cellar. From the light emerging by the thin line between the shut doors in front of him, it seemed that he wasn't alone in that house.

There was an odd machine next to him that looked like a torture device sending powerful electric discharges. When he turned his head to look at what was behind him, he could see a cross in the shape of an X, probably used to tie someone on it. It all seemed like medieval torture. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he forced himself not to look at these things, glad he wasn't attached to the cross.

Thomas vainly tried to leap or maybe stand on his toes but he soon learned that his body wouldn't obey him. Sure, he could show facial expressions and talk, but the rest of his body, from the collarbone to the feet, wouldn't move. He stayed this way for minutes that seemed to be long hours, trying to build up a plan or anything. But he came back with nothing. He didn't have a phone. He didn't have a weapon. He didn't know where he was and he didn't know what was going to happen, who knocked him down, and why. God, he hated not knowing.

The doors brutally opened and he turned his head away to protect his poor eyes that saw too much blinding light for his liking. Then the doors shut.

The man who came in switched on the light and Thomas blinked.

"Hello, Stiles. Glad you're awake, because we have a lot to talk about."

Thomas had never heard this voice before, and from what he could see of the man's face, these sharp features were also completely unknown to him. The man was around his forties, his hair were of a lighter brown than Thomas's. Even if he didn't seem blind or disabled, he held a long cane in his right hand.

"Who are you?" Thomas asked, narrowing his eyes at him. Nothing in this man inspired him confidence. He felt like an aura of power around him, and he was practically sure that this man wasn't the kind to offer sweets.

The man stared at him, slightly tilting his head to the side. Something in his eyes bothered Thomas.

"You don't recognize me? I haven't changed that much since we last met."

Thomas didn't understand a single thing and the questions burned his lips, threatened to burst out of his throat, but he managed to keep still, waiting for whatever was to come next.

Suddenly the eyes of the man flared, literally flared, and they were now totally red. Thomas nearly choked on his tongue and he tried to back up but his body was unresponsive.

"I'm Deucalion, of course."


	6. Chapter 6

_Yes, I am aware of the fact that I broke my vow, and I'm sorry for that, but I have excuses: I fainted and hallucinated after a blood extraction (god this only happens to me) and I had a family day, which means no computer so no way to write. But I'm back. Youhou._

 _I'm proud of this chapter. Nothing really happens in it but I liked writing the exchanges between the characters. (oh, btw, sorry again for any mistake, just remember english isn't my mothertongue at all.)_

 _Thank you again, everyone who reads! Love ya!_

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Sixth chapter

It could've been his imagination but Thomas was sure that, at the same time the man said his name, the lights flickered. And something was definitely wrong with his eyes. They were kind of swollen, as if he was blind, but clearly he wasn't disabled because his pupils were staring straight toward the teenager.

"Why can't I move?" asked Thomas as he tried one more time to lift a finger.

Deucalion – or whatever the hell his name was – smiled, reached for his pocket and pulled out a small flask. Empty. Thomas felt his blood freeze in his veins. This man had poisoned him.

"Kanima venom." Deucalion explained, turning the bottle between his long fingers. "It paralyzes the body but you are still able to talk. Very rare. I have the chance to own a kanima, which makes the reap easier." The man-who-was-more-than-a-man-as-his-eyes-turned-red crouched before Thomas, absorbing each and every detail of the tan teen's face, before he raised a finger and pressed it agains Thomas's cheek.

"Get off."

Deucalion ignored him. "I've heard... rumors." he slowly began. "Rumors that I don't think were true at first, but are actually well-founded."

Thomas winced. "What rumors?"

Again, Deucalion did as if he hadn't heard him, but his stare was stuck on the teenager's eyes, examining them. The nail of his finger started to hurt his cheek and he realized that it wasn't a nail anymore but a long and dirty claw at the tip of the forefinger, digging into Thomas's skin. "Seventy years ago, a woman summoned a dark spirit to avenge the murders of her own."

Story time. Exactly what Thomas needed.

"She soon realized that the Nogitsune – the spirit – was instable and killed everyone who had the misfortune to go in its way. She trapped it, inside a very powerful tree."

"The Nemeton." Thomas whispered.

Deucalion raised an appreciative eyebrow. "Looks like you already know the story. That's good."

"You think I am the Nogitsune."

"I underestimated you, Stiles, and I am sorry for that." Deucalion softly said, but his words were harsh. "I admit putting my hopes in Scott McCall, your best friend, but clearly I cannot change his mind. But you... you are different." His claw left Thomas's cheek and pressed right underneath his eye instead. The teenager hoped the man wasn't planning to shove a finger down his eyeball. "You have more blood on your hands than any member of the True Alpha's little pack could ever have. Remember Julia's sacrifices? She took your father, yet you didn't break down and betrayed your friend, exactly the opposite of what Scott did. I admire you for that, M. Stilinski. I admire your strength, your will, your violence and the way you'd kill someone, anyone for the ones you love. I admire the way you appreciate control. Because you're not the victim. You're the kamikaze."

Everything felt so off, so wrong, so out of mind that Thomas just stared in a daze at Deucalion. Who this man described was someone so deeply afar from Stiles's character that he just tried to shrug those words away. Thomas didn't know Stiles very well as he had just met him a few hours ago, and yet he felt like he had known this weird twitchy boy his whole life. Stiles wasn't a sociopath. He wasn't that void person Deucalion described. Thomas just couldn't imagine that.

"He's..." he began before correcting himself. "I'm not like that. I'm not-"

"You are lying to yourself." Deucalion straightened, his fingers leaving Thomas's suddenly pale face.

"What the hell d'you want?!"

"See, Stiles, I already made myself a new pack. It's nothing like my old one, just a bunch of stupid teenagers with simple minds, so I'm in a desperate need of a companionship. I used to have a great companion but she got killed off by Julia..."

Thomas shook his head. This was all too insane. He was going to get insane. He needed to get back to his friends or else he was going to burst.

"What the fuck d'you want..."

"I want you, Mr Stilinski. You and that other one inside that I know is dying to take control."

Thomas just stared at him, mouth agape.

"You think the Nogitsune's still there." he said.

Deucalion simply smiled and turned his back on him. "I think he left something behind him."

"He didn't!" Thomas shouted out, but his voice was lacking conviction. "He's gone! I swear he's gone and-" but the man was already going back to the door and opened it and Thomas knew he had to be fast. "My friends are coming for me and we're going to end you - hey! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!"

"I'm sorry about your nose. And your cheek." And on that, he was gone. Thomas continued screaming even though it was pointless, and when he understood the man didn't believe him in the slightest, he finally stopped and tried to get away from the ropes tied around him. Right where the nail/claw had dug into his cheek, he felt blood slowly trickle down.

~Ξ~

"I told you to wake me up!" Stiles yelled as he grabbed his red sweatshirt and carelessly threw away his pajamas.

"I just did!" Scott replied, watching him with two eyebrows lifted.

"It's 9 am, dude, did you seriously expect Thomas to survive nine freaking hours without us?!"

"I thought you could use some sleep..." Scott had really wanted to make Stiles's life easier, to make him sleep more and eat more and the effects of the possession started to vanish slowly but surely, but Stiles was extremely stubborn and often refused the help people gave him.

"I'm not the one you should've worried about." Stiles soon realized how harsh he sounded and shook his head. "Sorry, Scott. I just..."

"I get it, man. I get it." That was half a lie but Stiles wasn't able to listen to his heartbeat. Scott knew Stiles was nervous and on edge, but he couldn't understand why he was _that_ on edge. After all, he had just met Thomas yesterday, so why was Stiles so attached to this boy? "We're gonna find him."

Stiles rubbed his cheek without really thinking about it. "Yeah, and I believe you. So you came up with a plan?"

Scott made a face. "Kind of."

Stiles froze. "You're kidding right? 'Kind of'' – are you serious?"

"We know he's trapped in the Argent's old house." Mentioning Allison was too hard so he used her family name instead. "No one wanted to buy it, as Beacon Hills kinda has a bad reputation since last year – especially because of Kate, so we guess they squatted it."

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "Derek told us the Argents hid torture devices in their cellar."

Scott winced. Sometimes he wished his best friend was less discerning. He heard Stiles's heartbeat rise again.

"They're planning to use them on him." Stiles quickly put his Nikes on. "We have to go."

"Stiles -"

"No, Scott. We're going, which means I'm going with you, period. I don't want him to get hurt and trust me, electricity hurts like a bitch."

Scott wondered if Stiles remembered Kira's foxfire, the way it had shocked him, the way it had let the Nogitsune in. The answer seemed to be yes.

"I just wanted to tell you not to forger your bat." Scott smiled and handed him the precious weapon.

Stiles stared at it for a few seconds then his face broke into a grin. "Thanks, Scotty." He delicately took the bat then stormed out of his room, straight to his beloved Jeep.

They drove out of the house's driveway. Stiles's hands were almost painfully squeezing the steering wheel.

"So you haven"t told me the plan yet. We barge in, knock out every wolf we see, take Thomas and get the hell out, that's it?" he proposed as he scratched his cheek again.

Scott was staring at the road, trying not to think about where they were heading to and who used to own the place. "Basically that's it, but we came up with something a little more complicated."

"I'm all ears."

"Derek, Isaac and I are going in for the front door while you and Kira sneak in from the garage."

"A distraction."

Scott nodded. "We're going to keep them busy so you both can find Thomas and bring him to safety. I made a plan of the building. "He reached for his pocket and pulled out a home made map. Stiles briefly looked at it and nodded. "The cellar isn't far from the garage, so you just have to be real quick."

"Is there a signal, I don't know, anything so we know when to barge in?"

"Will you be able to recognize my howling?"

Stiles stared at him as if he couldn't believe Scott had just said that. "Yeah of course." he replied, looking back at the road. "You're my Alpha, dude. I could recognize your howling even if I was on the Death Star. That was an hyperbole, by the way."

Scott faintly smiled. In his mind, he wasn't really Stiles's Alpha as Stiles was an ordinary human, but he slowly began to understand that the definition of a pack was far more complicated than it actually was. A pack wasn't defined by bite or blood. It was trust that tied its members together, friendship, and love. And Stiles was, and he realized that just now, the first member of his pack, his first Beta. Even when Scott was just an Omega, Stiles was already a part of him.

"So, let me sum that up; sourwolf, scarf-lover and you go after the whole pack and its unknown Alpha, when the situation seems steady, you howl. Badass-katana-girl and Batman – it's me, by the way, hello – go for it, take back the runner and everyone flies away into the sunset, happy as a bunch of puppies."

"You get it." Scott smiled. "What's wrong with your cheek? You keep scratching it."

Stiles frowned, eyeing himself by the rearview mirror. "I don't know, it kind of itches."

He parked the car one street before the Argent's old driveway, silently shut the door and walked to Derek who was just standing there with Isaac and Kira. Isaac already had his claws out. Kira nervously triddled with her katana. Scott smiled and nodded to all of them, but he knew the two werewolves could sense their anxiety.

"We stick with the plan." he said, eyeing the four of them. "We don't give up on each other. If someone is badly injured, drag him – or her – away and wait for us to come back."

"Where's Lydia?" Kira asked.

"She could be useful as a banshee." Derek added, arms folded.

Scott lifted his phone. "If she senses that something's about to get really bad, she calls me, Stiles, or you." he replied. Derek nodded in appreciation and Stiles looked at his friend, impressed. This plan sucked slightly less than the previous ones. "That way they can't get to her and use her as an advantage."

( _Not like the last time_ , it was implied, but he didn't say it out loud.)

"I'm still wondering why we're saving him." Isaac commented, inspecting his clawed fingers.

"Because he needs our help." Scott firmly said. "And that's what we do. We help people."

"No, because it's about Stiles." Isaac let out. He didn't like Stiles, Stiles didn't like him, so it was only fair for him to dislike Thomas too. "He wants you to save that guy and as you're his best friend, it's obvious you're not gonna say no."

Stiles seemed to be ready to throw his bat at Isaac's curly head so Scott took a step forward. "We protect those who cannot protect themselves, remember?" he growled. Isaac froze right on the spot, sorrow replacing anger in his blue eyes. "We're gonna protect Thomas, not because of Stiles, but because he's in danger and we're not monsters."

"Besides, that new pack could be a threat for us in the future." Derek added. "We don't know what its Alpha wants and he didn't even ask us to stay in our territory."

Scott nodded, silently thanking the Hale for standing by his side. "That's right. So Isaac, you with us?"

Isaac's gaze went from hs Alpha's to Stiles's, stopped at Derek's, then he let out a grumpy "yeah". Stiles smirked. His best friend could be very manipulating when he wanted. Bringing back Allison's vows had been his weapon and the huntress was Isaac's weak spot. 1-0 for Scott.

"Stick with the plan." the Alpha reminded before his eyes turned red and his face began to grow hair. Derek's eyes shone cold blue and Isaac's glowed yellow. Kira lifted her sword and Stiles hardened his grip on the baseball bat. He didn't know what he expected but he was fully awake and sure as hell prepared to kick some asses.


	7. Chapter 7

_FIRST OF ALL I WANNA SAY THAT I LOVE YOU PEOPLE WHO SENT ME THOSE MESSAGES TO KEEP ME WRITING! I WOULD HAVE FORGOT TO WRITE IF YOU DIDN'T COME!_

 _It's been what? One month and a half? Well guess what, I have a one-word excuse: school. Ha. Try to defeat that._

 _This is an long chapter to make up for my absence. There are a lot of mistakes in that and I'm sorry because I'm too lazy to reread myself. Ugh._

 _Two questions though : WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT END OF 5B? I didn't really like it, too much slow-mo and man-pain but Stiles fought Theo like a boss, Malia fought also like a boss and Lydia... well she was knocked out so she was pretty much useless. I hate it. She learned how to fight, goddamn it!_

 _Second question: Have you seen Scorch Trials? Because I have not. It's out in my country next week, on the 8th of October, and there's so much spoilers on the internet right now... Do not spoil me please. No seriously. I will find you and I will maul you if you do. Spoil = die._

 _Anyway, enjoy! (sorry about the cliffhanger)_

* * *

Seventh chapter

When they entered the backyard, everything was silent though lights could be seen from the windows. An invisible cat meowed and they jumped, Scott almost let out a loud groan and Stiles' knuckles went white around his bat.

"It's okay." Scott mouthed to his friend, who nodded.

Stiles's face was white but it was nothing compared to its color a few weeks ago. His whiskey colored eyes still had a bit of dark in them, but they weren't glassy or dead as they used to be, they were starting to look like Stiles's eyes in sophomore year. He wondered if that meant Stiles was going to be fine; one look at the human was enough to answer his question. Stiles was never going to be fine. Scott knew him better than anyone, and he knew Stiles was going to fake his smiles and his laughs, just like he ever did. After all, the 147 pounds teen auto-proclaimed himself as the pack's clown and mascot. Which he obviously wasn't.

Stiles Stilinski had never been a mascot, he had always been his anchor, his faith-reminder. He stood against evil no matter the problems, and even if he got hurt in the process, he kept standing, fist raised high, mouth open to throw sarcasms.

Scott would never forgive himself if something bad happened to Stiles.

"Wait for the signal." Scott murmured and, once again, Stiles nodded without saying anything.

Derek and Isaac followed him while Kira and Stiles stayed hidden behind a bush. Scott hoped the werewolves wouldn't be able to hear their frenetic heartbeats in the middle of the fight.

The True Alpha raised a fist, looked at Derek, looked at Isaac, and knocked at the door. It opened almost right away.

"We come to take what is ours." Scott politely said, his eyes shining red.

~Ξ~

First of all, Thomas was trying to save himself. Second of all, he had no idea Scott's pack was coming for him.

Nine hours he was sitting on this stupid chair. His thighs were on fire and he wanted to scratch himself everywhere at once, but he couldn't because of these _fucking_ ropes. Eventually the kanima venom's effects started to wear off and he had been extremely satisfied when he realized he could wriggle his toes. He felt Chuck's wooden statuette against his leg. He wanted to grab it, squeeze it, that way he could tell himself it would be okay, and he wished he could give it to Chuck's parents. If Chuck had parents.

But did they all have parents? Thomas knew the name WCKD gave him was just an eponym. Maybe he didn't have any real parents. Maybe he was a test-tube baby. But Stiles had parents, right? So why wouldn't Thomas have parents too?

Injustice. He couldn't help but feel jealous at the thought of his copy simply _remembering_ his life, a good life, a life with real alive parents who took care of him and loved him just the way Thomas should have been loved, but no, instead of that, he had been rotting in a stupid lab then thrown into the jungle just to see his friends die.

It wasn't Stiles fault. It wasn't. He never asked to be born here just as Thomas never asked to live out there. Maybe everything was just the way it intended to be.

He didn't want to think about a possible destiny right now.

The door slided open and he blinked.

"Seems like your staying here is shortened after all." Deucalion said.

Thomas closed his hands into fists. He didn't know if he could take a fight, but he sure was prepared for it. However, he wasn't ready for crimson red eyes shining at him and a hand full of claws snatching him from the chair, and force him to stand up. Dirty and sharpened nails taking him by the throat, digging a little too deep into his skin. Half-strangled, Thomas let out a yelp and kicked him with his legs but his limbs were still a little numb. He was weak and he couldn't do anything.

Deucalion forced him to stand on his feet and rushed out, dragging Thomas with one hand.

~Ξ~

They were kicking asses. Stiles could see the scrap from the bushes he and Kira were hiding behind, and it wasn't really pretty. Well a werewolf fight wasn't supposed to be pretty, there usually was a lot of scratches, screaming, growling, bleeding, falling, breaking stuff around. Blue, yellow and red eyes shone in a twirling massacre, and Stiles wished every god in every religion he knew, even polytheism, for Scott, Derek and Isaac to be okay. Yes, even Isaac, even if he didn't like that useless scarfy blondie teenage-Beta, the thought of a dying Isaac was disturbing.

"They're getting killed." Kira whispered next to him. She was tightly clenching her hand on her sword and Stiles could see her knuckles turn white. "Maybe we could do something."

Stiles shook his head. "We stick to the plan. That's what Scott said. Besides, we've dealt with worse."

Kira was only there in Beacon Hills since less than a semester so it was obvious she didn't know what had happened last year. With Peter Hale, the bad psycho Alpha, and the kanima Jackson Whittemore, complete jerk (Stiles still thought they should have killed him – but on a second thought, Lydia would have let herself die if they would have done it), with Matt Daehler...

But Kira seemed to get it, and she simply nodded even if her frown slightly deepened.

She winced when Derek got hit by a nasty-looking fist but then the blue-eyed Beta retaliated by a powerful strike to the head, knocking out cold his opponent.

They waited in those same bushes for so long their legs became numb. At one time, they really thought they were going to be discovered as one of the enemies turned his head toward them and sniffed the air at the research of a scent, but luckily Scott had the situation in control. So the two of them didn't even try to peek a glance to see the fight, fearing to be found. They couldn't tell who was winning.

When they heard a lourd roar and that a familiar twinge ran up his spine, Stiles didn't think twice. He pressed Kira's shoulder and bolted from the bushes. She stood up and mimicked him, twirling her katana between both of her hands, her eyes focused on the house in front of them. Stiles wouldn't say it for all the gold in the world but he was glad she was with him, on his side. He was just a painfully ordinarily pale human who used to be a fox's chew toy. He could use a thunder kitsune on his team.

He turned his head in a swift movement while running to see Isaac and his now shredded scarf disappear inside the house. So his friends were alive. He then stopped himself from thinking that one of them could be seriously injured and made a dash to the garage door.

He didn't need Scott's map. He had already memorized it. But just in case, it was in his sweatshirt's front pocket where he could easily grab it and check. But after all, he had already been in Allison's house before. That night when Derek took her home and he thought she was in danger so he tried to warn her parents just to understand that she was safe and sound. Then the second time when Scott and her had ditched school for some romantic birthday trip in the woods, he had brought her notes for the classes she had missed. He had actually ended up staying in her room to help her out with the homework.

There were other times, not many because Scott used to be her boyfriend and best friend, but some where they were simply friends. Laughing, messing with each other. She had even tried to teach him how to shoot arrows. Obviously it hadn't gone well. He wondered if his poor hand-eye coordination had increased since. If his hands would stop shaking if he pulled the string of a bow one more time.

Kira quickly slammed her blade against the lock of the garage door and the result was remarkably satisfying. Without waiting any more longer, they both slightly lifted the door, trying to make it squeak less. The last thing they wanted was a small army of angry wolves coming for their asses.

Once Kira was in, she held the door ajar for Stiles and he followed her, crouching to get through. Then they both shut it as silently as they could.

Silently panting, Stiles was really glad no monster had been expecting them here. He lit up the garage with the flashlight of his phone. To his surprise, there wasn't any care parked here, but if he thought about it for a second, werewolves could speed as fast as a car.

"The basement." Kira reminded him.

"Yeah. Let's go." he whispered back.

She quickly went for the door, Stiles brandished his bat just in case he needed to knock out foes.

Now that the door was open, they could hear the fight from the other side of the house. Shouts and bangs and roars. He couldn't tell wether or not those roars were pissed or dying.

"You sure they'll be okay?" Kira whispered.

He bit his lower lip and shook his head, trying not to focus on the possible sounds of his friends getting torn apart. "They'll have to, or else I'll bring them back to life to kill them again."

The hallway was dark. He kept his phone in his left hand, clenching tight the bat in the other. He had seen and lived enough horror movies to assume something evil was going to jump at his throat and possibly mangle him, definitely kill him.

The door of the basement was at the very end of the hallway. Kira led the way as she was the one who could chop off a wolf's head with a single movement of her sword she actually knew how to handle. He walked a couple of feet behind her, clearly disliking the idea of his decapitation. And when she let a hand on the door, slightly opening it in a soft push, he knew something was wrong.

Because the dim light of the room could be seen from here and the door to the torture chamber wasn't closed

It should've been, obviously. Who kept a door to a secret room ajar?

"Unless it's a trap." he murmured.

Kira's worried gaze fell on him. Neither of them were ready for this, but here they were going. And Stiles would rather die than let Thomas at the mercy of some nutjobs.

So he went first. Ran the stairs down. Dashed to the torture chamber.

There was a chair. Cut ropes hanged on it. Stiles lowered his bat. Blinked a few times, clenched his jaw, and brought a hand to his hair, running it through it, messing it even more. Shook his head.

"He's not here."

He turned around to see Kira observing the room.

"I'm aware of that." he replied a little too harshly. "But he was here. I know it."

His feet led him to the chair. He kneeled. A wooden statuette was abandoned next to one of the chair's legs. He picked it up and squeezed it in his palm. "He had to be here, but now he's gone – they probably took him somewhere else because they knew we were coming for him. They have one move ahead of us, we just have to win this game so we can make their king fall, alright?"

"Stiles -" Kira slowly began.

"Second option." he went on, now pacing around the chair. The statuette was warm in his hand. He figured it was because Thomas must have kept it – because it definitely was Thomas' – near him that whole time. "He got out by himself somehow and he ran away, that's also plausible. Or maybe he got out, maybe they got him out, but he's or they are still in the house."

"Stiles -"

"Kira, there's no time!" he shouted as he ran for the stairs.

He violently pushed the door. Instead of opening it remained still. It wouldn't even bulge. Stiles let out a desperate shout and kicked it until he heard a muffed scream downstairs.

He faced the door, panting, furious because he didn't have the strength to destroy a stupid metal door and what was blocking it, then he turned around, finally understand what was happening.

"Kira?" he called out.

He silently hoped for her to be okay. After all, Kira was really clumsy and sometimes tripped over invisible stuff. Maybe this time she had tripped over the chair. That was a possible explanation. He didn't expect someone else to answer to him.

"STILES GET THE HELL OU-" shouted a well-known voice until it brutally died with a bang.

He didn't know how that happened but his body violently crashed against the door, he lost the bat, and disoriented, without anything to stop him from tumbling, he fell down the stairs.

Each step left a bruise on his back, his legs and his arms. He was a mess of dismantled limbs and whatever he did, he ended up more hurt than if he didn't move at all. Then, as brutally as it began, it stopped, and he could breath again.

His chest was on fire and he let out a groan when he brought a hand to his ribcage. Thankfully, his legs and arms still worked. He slowly touched his upper lip, and when he looked at his finger, it was bloodied. So he quickly swiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and got on his feet.

A powerful hand gripped him by the hair and he cried out, losing his balance. His vision was blurry from all that pain.

"Two." said someone. "There's two of you."

Stiles didn't wait to comprehend the situation and kicked with all the strength he had left the man carrying him like a bag. But as he was just a useless human, all that fighting was for nothing. He furiously blinked so the tears could roll down his bruised cheeks and his vision could clear.

The face beside him was the one of a man in his forty. Maybe more, maybe less. He couldn't really see, the face was too close. One thing about his eyes though. They were blue. And he knew they used to be blank.

His eyes widened in realization. "They said they'd kill you if you came back." he murmured, his voice hoarse with pain.

Deucalion shrugged, in a very human way. "They should have known that I'm a predator. I never lose sight of my preys."

"They should've KILLED YOU!" Stiles screamed. He punched him, hard in the gut, but he was tossed to the side like he weighed nothing, landing on his ribcage. All the air left his lumbs and he coughed, choking at the same time. His body hurt everywhere. When he raised his head, he managed to see Kira restrained on the chair by the ropes. All of her screams were muffed by the gag in her mouth, but she wasn't crying. Instead her expression was a mix of furiosity and terror.

Thomas was lying on the ground next to Kira, knocked out cold. His nose was bleeding on his mouth. Stiles watched as the tiny drops flowed on his chin. His brain had trouble functioning but he knew that this whole situation was surreal. He thought back to the blood dripping from his own nose.

Deucalion was standing between the two boys, turning his head to Stiles then to Thomas as if he was watching a tennis match.

"You didn't have a twin the last time I was in town. I guess you are Stiles, and he... the other." he softly said. "Can you tell me how this happened?"

Stiles swiped his nose once again, ignoring the pain flaring in his torso. "I can tell you that I will not tell you what you want me to tell you."

Deucalion rolled his eyes, almost amused. "Please, M. Stilinski, don't start with the sarcasm, you know that won't save you."

"But you haven't kill me yet." Stiles replied. He used one hand to sit down, the other gripping the fabric of the sweatshirt where he could feel something was broken inside him. "So you need me. You need us too or you would have killed us three."

"Actually, I only need two of you."

Stiles committed the mistake of biting the inside of his cheek. "Two?" he repeated, using the wall beside him to get up. His legs were shaking and it was hard to keep his balance.

"I thank Scott McCall for leading, even unintentionaly, the thunder kitsune here. And I thank you Stiles for being here too. That's all I needed."

Stiles blankly looked at the lying body of his copy. "Thomas."

"So that's his name." Deucalion said as if he wasn't really interested in the matter. He kneeled beside the teenager. Stiles jumped forward but stopped when he saw the Alpha wasn't making any move to kill Thomas. At least not yet. From the corner of his eye, he saw the blade of Kira's katana shining in the dim light.

"What do you want?" he shakily asked.

"Oh, it's quite simple." the man replied, running a clawed finger under Thomas' eye as if he was inspecting it. "I want the dark version of Stiles Stilinski. The residue of the nogitsune inside you. What humans call 'dark side', what I call 'instinct'."

Stiles stared a few seconds. Shook his head. "He's dead."

"He's not dead. He's right behind me, waiting to be unleashed."

The human took a few shaky breaths, trying to control the panic attack that was threatening to burst out. "Okay. Okay, I get it. You want that Void thingie."

"That's right."

"But you can't have that Void thingie because I don't know how to unleash it. And for the record, there isn't any Void thingie, okay? It's not me. It's not anyone. It's dead and it's going to stay dead, forever."

Deucalion looked at him, ignoring Thomas for a while. Stiles stopped eyeing the katana.

"But I know how to unleash it. Why do you think I need your kitsune friend?"

Stiles looked at Kira. She was holding her head high but tears were streaming down on her cheeks. As if she already knew what was about to happen.

Deucalion approached Stiles, setting his troubling gaze on his. "Do you remember how the Nogitsune finally possessed you?"

Stiles could do like Kira. Keep his head high and weep silently. That he did all the time. "Riddles. It also liked the sing me lullabies to sleep."

"Fox fire." Deucalion answered.

"What if she doesn't electrify me?" the pale human let out. "You still need us for this so you can't eliminate us, am I right?"

"I can kill your 'twin', or whatever the hell he is."

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. Hard. He didn't care if that added a bruise, he didn't care, he just wanted to see if he was really awake. If he was really here. Pain makes you human, after all, and as long as he was suffering, he knew he was him _self_.

"You're bluffing." he then said. Even though he was the one who bluffed right now.

Deucalion raised a hand, claws out. "Am I? I only need one of you."

Stiles swallowed. Kira, maybe sensing what he was about to say, let out a muffed shout, something he could translate by 'DON'T!'.

"Okay." he simply said. Deucalion smiled wider. "But if you don't respect our deal, I'll make sure to kill you, void or not."

"You have my word." the Alpha bowed down. In a swift movement, he was next to Kira and snatched the gag away from her mouth.

"Stiles, no!" she instantly screamed, pleading him with her eyes. "You know I won't do this, I'm not going to let this happen, not again!"

Stiles couldn't let Thomas die. He already had enough blood on his hands. So he just stared at her with a small smile, trying to reassure her. But he wasn't like Scott. Scott always said 'it's going to be okay, I promise' and everyone listened to him, everyone believed in him. Stiles was the pessimistic one. He wasn't going to lie because nothing would ever be okay. He knew life ended with blood. He learned from the death of Matt, Erica, Boyd, Aiden, and most of all, Allison.

"You don't throw your fox fire at me and he dies, Kira." he simply reasoned. "It's one life for an other."

"But I can't -"

"It's not your choice, alright? I have the right to decide when I die, and how. _You don't_. I'm not gonna stand there and let an innocent being murdered in front of me _again_ , I won't accept that."

Tears rolled down Kira's face and Stiles pretended to swipe his nose once again just to lower his head.

"I'm sorry I don't know you that much." she then said between two sobs. "But I know you enough to know that if I electrocute you, I would kill an innocent."

He couldn't face her eyes. She was lying anyway. "It's my life." he repeated. "I do want I want with it."

"Are you two done?" Deucalion cut off, a little bored.

"Yes." Stiles let out. He took a few steps toward Kira, ignoring the pain in his ribcage.

Kira shook her head but he put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her the best as he could. He wasn't very good at this. He knew how to be goofy and how to swing bats at werewolf's heads.

Did he truly believe the world was better off without him? No. But he knew the world didn't need him, and perhaps that was worse.

He didn't know what Kira was thinking at that moment, but he knew she had given up. Stiles too.

Electric blue shone around her fingers. Goosebumps appeared on Stiles's arm. He couldn't help but open his eyes wide. Kira was literally shining with orange energy, like an aura protecting her. Scott had told him how she looked like, he had told him that it was protecting her. For Stiles's human eyes, this aura was pure magic. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He watched in amazement as the beautiful arcs of energy slowly ran up her hand, then her forearm. It brushed his skin. Burned it. He didn't expect it to burn that bad.

His brain froze and probably became jelly in a matter of seconds. His entire body was on fire and he knew he was dead - it was suffering past endurance and imagination, he couldn't control anything, he was blind and mute and deaf -

Then it all stopped.


	8. Chapter 8

_cecld16:_ _I don't think Deucalion understands Void!Stiles' power and dangerousness, so you are kinda right! Hope you're satisfied with this chapter... because it isn't what you thought would happen..._

 _Guest:_ _I'm not saying anything but... you'll see if the electrocution worked or not ;)_

 _fadingshadowss:_ _I saw it now! I don't know if I really liked it as it was_ extremely _different from the book, but I'd say I enjoyed it. Just for Dylan's and Thomas Sansgter's beautiful faces. This chapter is inspired by TST actually. Hope you're satisfied!_

 _Orange:_ _No. WICKED is good. ;))_

 _I truly was an evil person, I gotta admit. That cliffhanger was horrible. But I fixed it! This cliffhanger here is slightly less demonic. I was inspired by The Scorch Trial's movie for this chapter, but there aren't any spoilers for those who haven't seen it yet. There are also slight references of the second and third book, if you can notice them..._

* * *

Eighth chapter

When Thomas woke up, everything was burning. His eyes, his skin, his clothes, everything around him was on fire and he was standing in the middle of the chaos.

He opened his mouth to let out a groan of pain but soon realized dry warmth was invading his throat, obliterating any moisture in its path; he felt like flames roared in his lungs. He shut his eyes as if he was going to die if he didn't, and even though he couldn't see anything, red flowed through his eyelids. Raging red, liquid lava, gorgeous gold. He couldn't adjust to the brilliance so instead he just held out a hand and grabbed something. Something that was warm, but not as warm as the air, a comfortable kind of warm.

It was flesh. He crawled to the person, ignoring the scorch of the sun and the sand. He touched the man's face. Felt the roughness of the cheekbones, the invisible facial hair on his chin, the bump of his nose and the hole of his eyeballs, the length of his eyelashes. It felt odd. Like he knew whose person this face belonged to.

He shook him violently.

"Stiles! Hey, wake up, shuck! Stiles! Stiles, come on!" The boy didn't react, he just laid there, unconscious.

Thomas raised a hand and slapped him. He didn't have the time to say sorry anyway. Stiles's head went slack to the side but he didn't flinch.

Thomas carefully proceeded to open his eyes. The scorching ball of madness floating in the sky that could pretend to be a sun was slightly less intimidating but it still left a red imprint on his pupils.

Wherever he looked at was sand. He was standing in the middle of a beach without water, on the yellow hills of a desert, totally alone with an unconscious seventeen-year-old hyperactive who just happened to be his perfect doppelgänger. How did that happen?

So many fucking questions and absolutely no time to answer to all of them. He just didn't know. He hated not knowing.

 _Wait_.

He knew one thing.

He remembered one thing.

He came from here. He was standing here, maybe not on this specific spot, but on the same desert, under this same radioactive sun. Not a single tree in this wasteland, just wavering currents of heated air boiling on the horizon, floating slightly above the hills.

He shook Stiles once more.

"Stiles, we seriously have to go. Stiles please wake up. I need you to wake up or else we're both gonna die."

Burn marks covered Stiles's pale face and he looked kind of roasted. Thomas's skin was fine although slightly red but it was because of the heat, and he started to understand what had awoken him.

"What the hell did you do..." Thomas sighed. He considered slapping him again but decided otherwise, carefully got on his knees then on his feet, his legs threatening to give up any second now. Feeling a sudden pain in his nose, he brought a hand there only to sense dried blood on his nostrils. Stiles's nose and lips were covered with the same splashing of blood. Thomas stared down at it for a second.

He then looked around him, searching for anything he could use to lift Stiles. Obviously sand was useless and there wasn't any wood around, no rocks, nothing. He swore under his breath and licked his cracked lips. Soon he'll need to drink but he rejected that thought away. He couldn't think about water now.

"Hold on, alright? We're gonna get through this."

He didn't know why he felt the urge to promise him things even if Stiles wasn't awake. Maybe he said that to make himself believe that it was going to be okay.

Being optimistic was exhausting.

Thomas tried to lift Stiles the bridal way but he soon found out he was too weak. The boy weighed like a dead man, even if he was thin. Thomas realized at the same time how numb his limbs were. His back ached, his hands felt rough, his eyelids fell on their own. He desperatly needed sleep. He had taken small naps when he was tied to that chair in the basement, but the last time he was truly resting was when he had stung himself and knocked himself out at the same time, back in the Glade. He kind of envied Stiles right now. At least the shank didn't feel anything – or that's what he hoped.

But he couldn't just give up now. The teenager was going to die of dehydratation if Thomas didn't do anything, if he didn't stay next to him. He could always wait for Stiles to wake up but when he pulled on the boy's shirt to search for any injuries, he noticed dark bruises on his chest and burn marks spread everywhere. He smelt like rotten pig. He seemed to be struck by lightning and that meant bad news.

He grabbed Stiles's arms, then lifted him by placing his hands under his armpits. It wasn't the best method but that's all he could imagine right now. Panting, he dragged the unconscious boy for a few meters, stopped to take a break. The sand was making it all harder than it already was.

He felt rage and hopelessness flood in his veins and he suddenly wished he could punch something. He squeezed his hands into fists.

"COME ON!"

It wasn't by screaming that everything would be fixed but it helped him get a hold of himself.

He dragged Stiles a little more, then dropped his arms and sat on the hill. Took his shoes off, emptied them from the sand. Cursed once more under his breath. He angrily put his shoes back on and blankly stared at the infinity of desert.

He didn't know if he wanted the world to go fuck itself or if he just wanted to lie down and let himself die of thirst with Stiles. One look at the boy made him reconsider his options.

It was funny. When it came to Stiles, he felt something weird. It was like a connection, probably even deeper than the one he had with Teresa, but he knew it wasn't a romantic one. He couldn't explain how it worked, he just knew there was something. If Stiles got hurt, Thomas too. Same thing vice versa. The blood from Thomas's broken nose and Stiles's uninjured nose, the way Thomas felt when he awoke here, like his skin was burning, paralleling Stiles's scorched limbs, everything proved it.

What if Stiles died? Would Thomas die too?

Thomas didn't want to die and he didn't want Stiles to die either, so it was all set. But the worst part? He couldn't save either of them.

He was useless.

He knelt next to the teenager and searched his pockets. He eventually found a square object slightly bigger than his palm, examined it and pressed one of the few buttons. The screen lit up, showing the glowing picture of a grinning Stiles between Scott, Lydia and Kira. Derek Hale appeared in the background and he seemed grumpy and surprised, as if he hadn't wanted to be part of the photo.

Thomas stared at the picture for a second, and a message appeared on the screen : _SIM network unlock PIN._ As he had no idea what it meant, he put the phone in his own trouser pocket.

He lied down next to Stiles. Looked at his peaceful face a few seconds. Closed his eyes.

He didn't know how it happened but he slipped into a dream. He had no concept of time passing, there was only the heat of the sun and the warm waves of wind brushing against his skin, and he was gone. Far buried into a blissful, welcome sleep.

It's dark. He hears voices. Whisperings.

He doesn't know how old he is, but certainly younger than now. Maybe ten. Maybe more. Maybe less. He can't see anything, blinded by darkness, as if he is witnessing the shadows underneath his bed. He's scared. He longs for the light. The voices are getting louder.

"Do we know if his brain can take it?" It's a man. He doesn't know who he is.

"We don't." It's someone else now. He understands they are talking to each other and not to him. After all, he's asleep. How could he answer?

"Is it worth the risk? He could hold our cure."

"So can the others. It's just one test on one kid, and if it fails, we just get rid of him."

"And what if he survives?"

Thomas wants to shout. Make them understand he's not an object, a guinea pig anyone can play with.

"Then we will be saved. So try not to damage his brain too much. If we succeed, this kid might be our way out of this shit."

All of a sudden the whispering stop altogether. He hears nothing but a buzzing. Like machines above his head. Then something little and sharp and needle-like cuts just above his temple and pierces his skull. He feels no pain at all, because he is asleep, but he knows he should be screaming with agony.

Suddenly he isn't floating anymore. White overcomes his senses and he brings a hand to his eyes to protect them from the aggression; that's when he knows he's waking up.

Thomas violently opened his eyes, shut them tight right back. A spotlight from above was frozen on him and he noticed the hovering helicopter.

He knew what to do instantly, like he unconsciously longed for action all this time. He got up in half a second, spat some sand. Grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and shook him with all the strength he had recovered.

"Wake up, Stiles!"

He somehow knew that the helicopter above them was a threat.

"Wake up, Stiles!"

He couldn't run away. Not without him. He wouldn't abandon him for all there was in this goddamn world.

"WAKE UP!"

He didn't.

Thomas cried out his name when they took him away. He didn't stop kicking when they forced him to go in the helicopter. He didn't stop screaming when they told him they'd knock him out if he didn't shut it.

~Ξ~

"Hey."

The voice startled him and he jolted awake with a gasp.

"Hey, easy Thomas, it's us!"

Thomas tried to calm the frenetic beatings of his heart and looked at his surroundings. Something broke in his chest when he realized his two best friends were right there, in front of him, alive.

Minho looked fresh, his dark hair always spiked up. The last time Thomas had seen him, he was bloody and dirty, still panting from the fight against the Grievers, but now he was clean. He wore a dark shirt and brown pants and he had never looked so normal. The Asian tapped Thomas's shoulder a little too hard. Newt had crossed his arms as if he was pissed off but he smiled at him nevertheless, a scar marking his cheek right underneath his left eye. He was as clean as Minho and Thomas realized that his hair were of a lighter blond than he thought.

"I thought we would have to make you smell Frypan's feet to wake you up, greenie." Minho said.

Thomas groaned but he couldn't help but smile too. "Don't call me greenie."

He straightened and ran a hand through his own filthy mass of hair. His clothes and hygiene hadn't changed in the slightest. On the opposite, the Gladers looked more pure and white than ever, even Minho with his olive skin and Frypan with his dark epidermis.

"I'm so glad you're all okay." he let out and for a second he thought he would run and hug them all tight.

"Yeah well, we're glad you're fine too. You gave us a hell of a scare, shuck." Minho said, his grin shining.

"Why are you all dressed like that?"

"They gave all of us brand new clothes. I feel labeled, but this is the most clean I ever felt in a long while." Newt complained, still staring at him as if something green was stuck between Thomas' teeth.

"They probably didn't want to get you naked to put new clothes on you, because you were totally out when they carried you to that bed." Frypan joked, and even if Thomas didn't really know the guy, he felt the most happy right now. Winston gave him a silent "hi" which he replied to with one of his rare smiles.

His smile turned into a worried wince in half a second. He carefully got out of the bed, stared at the bunk beds with those odd hospital white sheets. He definitely was in a dormitory.

"What happened to me?"

"They said they knocked you out." Newt replied. He still had that frown on. "Apparently you were out of control, like you had the rage or somethin', so they had to calm you down the hard way."

"What happened to you, Thomas?" Minho soflty asked. Thomas had never seen him more concerned before.

He didn't answer and instead walked to the door. He tried to open it.

"It's closed." Frypan warned.

He didn't listen and started banging on the door.

" _Hey_! You're gonna hurt yourself, slinthead!" Minho shouted, exasperated.

Newt rushed to Thomas and put his hand on the teen's shoulder.

"Stop doing that right now, Tommy, and listen to us, okay?"

"WICKED put us here?" he asked, deciding not to reply.

Newt sighed. "No. Our 'saviors' are against WICKED actually, that's why they rescued us. They're the same ones as those who took us out of the lab, remember?"

Thomas felt all the Gladers' gazes on his back, waiting for him to spill out his story, waiting for him to explode or to start dancing; he didn't know what they waited but the room stank anxiety.

He slowly turned around to face them. "So we're safe?"

"We are. It's over, Tommy."

He stared at an invisible point above Winston's head. "What about Teresa?"

"She has her own room. Ya know, being a girl." Minho replied.

Breathe in. Breathe out. He could snap any second now and apparently everyone was aware of it.

"Stiles?" he let out.

"What?"

"Stiles. They took him with me when we got there."

"Never heard of a Stiles before."

"What were you doing with a guy? You met him in the desert?" Winston said, half-laughing as this idea was totally nuts.

Thomas headed for the nearest bed, probably Minho's, but the Asian didn't complain when he sat on it. He took his face between his palms with a sigh. "No, I met him in a parallel universe."

He heard Frypan's skeptical shout and Winston's heavy sigh. Newt just glared at him in disbelief.

"I think I wasn't really paying attention because I think I just heard you say 'parallel universe'." Minho said.

"I gotta see him." Thomas murdered and on that he was back in front of the door and banged on it once again. "Hey! _Let me out_!"

"Bloody hell..." he heard an annoyed Newt whisper.

"He's getting more stubborn." Frypan said.

The door burst open, surprising everyone even Thomas who quickly got his balance back and stared at the strangers before him. There was a man in his forties, and a younger one, probably a guard as an odd-looking gun hung at his waist.

"Hello Thomas. Glad you're finally awake." the older man said. There was something in his crooked smile that made Thomas think that he could never trust him.

"I want to see Teresa and Stiles." he immediatly interjected without waiting for what the man was going to say next. Thomas just stood there in the opening, tensed, ready to kick or to run and to get the hell out of here. He felt the Gladers' presence behind him and he knew that they would stand by him no matter what he did.

"I'm afraid you can't do that right now, Thomas." the man slowly said. Thomas decided that he just couldn't stand him. He had the face of a rat. Thomas couldn't bear rats.

"Where are they?" he persisted, taking a step foward. Newt's hand was instantly on his shoulder but he shrugged it off. "Where the hell are they?"

The man didn't flinch and his crooked smile made Thomas want to punch him. "You don't need to worry about them, Thomas. They are safe. So are you."

It took a nanosecond for Thomas to decide what his next move was going to be; he jumped forward, ignored the Gladers' shouts and kicked the armed man in the shin. He didn't wait for him to fall down and he was already out of the dormitary. He didn't bother looking behind him, no, he just ran into the long and white corridor. He didn't know where to go so he just sprinted, saw alerted guards coming in front of him, turned to the right. He heard screams and an alarm ringing - the white light coming from the ceiling was now red – he heard erratic footsteps behind him and the guards yelled at him to stop.

He turned left, turned right, saw a door, tried to push it open, but it was useless as he didn't have a card. Every door was card-locked. He could give up on his dream of a hiding place.

Thomas cursed under his breath and turned around, only to stare at the barrel of a gun right to his chest. He quickly considered his options: pushing away the gun while taking a step to the side, kicking the man's legs to make him tumble, or give up and raise his arms in a sign of defeat. The second option won as pratically every guard from the building came surrounding him.

Rat-Man was with them with his horrible smile.

"You have to understand that you are safe here, Thomas." he slowly said. The guards, their weapons raised in cause Thomas made any movement – they are more than ten against one, that was absolutely ridiculous, the teenager thought – let him go through and he approached the boy.

"You keep saying that I'm safe, but it's at me that everyone is aiming." he roared.

The man gestured to the guards to lower their weapons. "I have some things to explain to you, Thomas. In private."

Thomas stayed silent.

"Follow me."

* * *

 _PS: I have a thing for Newtmas. Sorry if it showed too much, because I really want this story to be ship-less._


	9. Chapter 9

_I'm back sooner than I planned it but whatever, you don't care because you're happy that there's a new chapter ;) I thank again everyone who reviewed and who reads this story, really it means a lot as my English kinda sucks sometimes. I'm really sorry for that, I'm trying my best but I'm still french, can't do anything about it._

 _If you haven't seen TST yet, don't worry, there aren't any spoiler here (I think), but if you've watched it already, you might recognize some scenes._

 _This story is getting really confusing, I know... but I swear I know where I'm heading._

* * *

Ninth chapter

"Sorry about the guards, they can be intimidating, but you know you shouldn't be running away like that."

Thomas simply stared at the man, watched him take a chair and sitting down in front of him then resting his arms on the table between them.

"You can call me Janson." he then said. Thomas decided to keep nicknaming him Rat Man. "I won't take up too much of your time, I only have a few questions for you. Once you answer them, you're free to go. It's almost time for dinner actually so you'll meet your friends in the canteen."

Dinner. He was out for a long time, that was why he felt well-rested. He wondered what was Scott's pack doing. Looking for them, probably.

"Will Stiles and Teresa be there?" he asked.

Rat Man studied him for a few seconds. Thomas returned him the glare.

"Your girl friend is currently being blood tested, so I doubt she'll be there."

"And Stiles?"

Rat Man simply looked at him. Smiled once more. "Tell me; if I answer to your question, will you answer to mine? Is that fine to you?"

Thomas considered his answer. Two seconds. "Yeah."

"How did it started?"

He blinked. "What started?"

"The Big Step. The Trip. Whatever you call it. How did you travel between our world and Stiles' ?"

Three seconds of silence. "I don't know."

"I think you do."

Five seconds. "I didn't understand what was happening at first. There was..." he stopped, trying to find the right words. "There was a door. A crack. If you can call it like that. Like a crack on the wall, except there was no wall, it was standing, floating, whatever, into thin air, right next to me. And when your guards took me toward the helicopter, and when I tried to... to resist them" ( _when I tried to stay with Chuck_ ) "I stumbled because... I don't know, my head suddenly started to hurt, and I fell into the crack. And then I passed out."

"But how did this crack appeared?" Rat Man persisted.

"I told you. I don't know."

The man straightened his back on his chair, still staring right into Thomas' eyes as if he was looking for lies. "Okay. Thank you for your honesty."

It was Thomas' turn now and he didn't waste any time. "Where is Stiles?"

Rat Man shook his head. "I can't tell you."

Thomas' breath got stuck in his throat. "Are you fucking kidd-"

"What I mean is that I can't tell you _right_ _now_." he rectified. "He has been badly injured, our doctors are taking care of him and they are currently taking blood samples from him to see if his body isn't host to the virus."

Thomas slightly calmed down but kept his hands closed into fists in his lap. "The Flare." he murmured.

Janson – Rat Man, whatever – nodded. "Even if we doubt he's infected, he could also carry other viruses that don't exist here and that could be a threat to the people in this facility. We have to be careful and you looking for him wouldn't help."

Thomas resigned himself and nodded in understanding. Then he looked down at his hands in his lap, frowned. "I remember certain things."

This captured the man's attention and he gestured to Thomas to go on.

"Maybe it was because I stung myself two days ago with a Griever's sting, but some memories are coming back to me." He couldn't bring himself to trust Janson but right now, the guy was his best hope at finding answers to his problems. "I remember being operated on by two surgeons. They were doing something with my brain, trying to... I didn't understand much, but they said that I could be their way out of this."

Rat-Man stayed silent and something in his eyes was shining when Thomas looked up. Then he stood up.

"Does this have to do with my Trip?" Thomas carried on, afraid he would leave without a proper answer. "They did something to me, didn't they, and it succeeded, that's why Stiles and I are connected, that's why-"

"Stiles and you are connected for a complete different reason than two idiots operating on an eleven-year-old boy."

Thomas stared at Rat-Man as if a second head had suddenly sprouted out of his neck.

"I guess you already know about the parallel worlds." the man continued. "Stiles and you are the same person, so it's only fair you both are connected to each other. Let me guess: if he gets hurt, you feel it too, and vice versa?"

Thomas nodded. His mouth was dry and something was stuck in his throat.

"You are two sides of the same coin, Thomas."

"But the surgery? Do you know anything about it? Why me, why did they do this-"

"It's almost time for dinner. You should meet your friends in the canteen. Or meet new ones."

"You didn't answer to my question-" Thomas stood up, infuriated.

"I told you it would take a few minutes and those minutes are over. We'll meet again, Thomas, and perhaps I will reply then. I am not answering right now for the same reason that I can't tell you where Stiles is."

He felt anger overcome his senses. Controlled himself by digging his raw nails into his palms. Stood up without looking at Rat Man's face that made him want to punch him in the gut, and went for the door.

"I recommend you to take a shower first." the man said, a smile in his voice. "I don't think your comrades will be very happy smelling you coming."

Thomas opened the door and went out without a word.

~Ξ~

Taking a shower was probably the best thing that had ever happened in his life.

The water was hot, probably too hot for his own good but he didn't care. He watched the curls of vapor fly up to the ceiling and languorously waft above his head. Water, dirt and blood altogether disappeared down the plughole and he watched the last traces of the Grievers, Chuck's death and the torture in that basement fade away. He listened to the water bouncing against his red skin a few minutes, or hours, he didn't know how long he stayed in that shower. He felt good. Clean.

He stepped away from the shower a few minutes after and grabbed a towel for his waist. The shower room was empty as everyone else was eating in the canteen. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now and be assaulted by questions from his friends anyway.

Thomas looked down at the pile of his old dirty clothes. He had put on top of it Stiles' phone that he had taken from him while he was unconscious. He was lucky no one thought he had a phone in his possession, but he still didn't know what the password to unlock it was.

He took the phone in his left hand and in the other, grabbed his dirty clothes and let them fall into a small dumpster nearby where he knew the clothes would be either burned or washed for a second use. Now he really had no trace of the Maze and his Trip left.

Thomas dried himself then tousled his hair a little while looking at himself in a mirror in front of a sink. He couldn't help but look for differences between Stiles an him. Now that he was clean and that his hair was spiked up, he couldn't find any except obviously for the color of his skin, slightly more tanned than the hyperactive's.

They were the same person. Two sides of the same coin, like Rat Man had said. It was crazy but consistent at the same time, and the more he thought about it, the dizzier he felt. So he looked away from his reflection, grabbed the new clothes that were waiting for him and quickly put them on. He slipped the phone in his pocket, glad the bump of the device through his pants didn't show too much.

When he entered the canteen, Minho instantly jumped on him.

"You gave us a hellova scare, Thomas! What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?"

Confused, Thomas didn't respond and instead stared at the forty or so of teenagers talking and eating at the tables of the canteen. He took note of the armed guards bloking one of the exit of the room.

"Yeah, we weren't the only Maze. Come on, follow me." Minho continued as he led him to one of the tables.

Thomas sat down between Newt and Minho. The British gave him once again one of his smile/frown and Thomas eyed the food. He hadn't noticed how hungry and thirsty he was until now.

"This guy here, what's happened to him, it's exactly the same thing that's happened to us." Minho explained and a dark-skinned teenager in front of him nodded.

"You must be Thomas." he said without a smile. "Your friends told me about you. Apparently you arrived here with a large bump on your forehead."

Thomas lowered his head. "Yeah, that's me. I've been left behind with a friend and I thought that the people who came at our rescue were threats so I kind of defended myself, you see."

The guy nodded in appreciation.

"How long have you been here?" Newt asked instead of Thomas.

"Not long, two days. But that kid over there, he's been here the longest. Almost a week." With a gesture of the hand, he indicated a boy eating alone, with his hood over his head as if he didn't want to be interrupted in his meal. Thomas stared at him, wondering why he was on his own.

"His Maze was full of girls." one of the friends of the dark-skinned boy said.

"Guess he had luck." the teen replied.

Thomas was still staring at the lone boy, not taking care of the conversation still happening. He absently reached for a glass full of water and took swigs of it.

"So Thomas. You still didn't tell us what happened to you yesterday." Minho said, waking Thomas up from his reverie.

"Yeah, one second you were with us and the other you were just gone. You shoulda seen the face of the guys who were taking you!" Frypan laughed.

Thomas eyed once again the plate in front of him and attacked the mashed potatoes with a large spoon.

"Honestly I don't really know what happened either." he said while swallowing. Frypan's mashed potatoes tasted better than these ones. "And what happened after I disappeared, that's a long story." He glared intently at the two strangers in front of him and Newt quickly understood.

"You'll tell us all when your stomach's full." the British decided. "But you'll tell us everything, okay Tommy? No lies."

"Good evening gentlemen and ladies."

Rat Man's voice echoed in the canteen and made Thomas' stomach churn. Almost immediatly everyone stopped talking.

"You know how this works." the man went on. "You hear your name called, please rise and join my colleagues. That's when you'll know that your new lives are about to begin."

"What's he talking about?" Thomas murmured to Newt.

"Every evening, he chooses a few kids to take them to a kind of paradise." his friend translated. "If I knew more, I'd tell you."

"Anton." Rat Man called behind his file. "Samuel. Tara." People were cheering at every name called, making Thomas frown. It looked like the chosen kids had won the lottery. "Alice. Seth."

Thomas watched as the teenagers rose to their feet, clapped hands with their friends and went happily with Rat Man's colleagues. He had a bad feeling about this.

"And Lydia."

If he was a wolf, Thomas was sure his ears would have perked up. Instead he turned around so fast he thought his neck snapped.

He immediatly recognized the hair. The reddish hair, or maybe something like strawberry blonde. They were long, untangled, brushed with care, and when the girl turned around to fill in the line of the chosen, he instantly knew it was her.

"Lydia?"

She looked at him with a surprised look on her face just like everyone in the canteen. Newt pulled on his sleeve and muttered a curse when Thomas stood up.

"What?" she said, staring at him with those big green eyes. "I know what my name is, thank you."

People burst into laughters but Thomas ignored them. He took a step forward.

"You don't recognize me?"

"No, should I?"

He took an other step forward then started walking toward her without paying attention to the rest of the world. "You don't remember Stiles?" Her confused expression turned into fear as he got closer. "Scott?" he persisted. "The pack?"

Someone grabbed his arm with enough strength to make him stumble. "Okay, that's enough for now, Thomas." Janson said with a smile as if all of this was just an enormous joke. "Your turn will arrive, you just have to wait a day or two: no need to put on a show."

The entire refectory laughed at his last words and everyone seemed to forget Thomas' existence. Thomas maintained eye contact with Lydia as he went back to his seat. Minho nudged him, requesting answers, but he was too shaken up to give some.

"Don't be discouraged, if I could take more I would." Rat Man said. "Go on, eat up now."

Everyone got back to their original discussions as if nothing ever happened and the chosen teenagers followed Janson and his colleagues out of the refectory.

"Bloody hell, try not to draw too much attention on yourself." Newt muttered. Thomas glared at Lydia and suddenly made up his mind.

He jumped to his feet and slightly bent to be at the same height as the teenagers sitting down. He walked between tables like that until he reached Lydia, then he straightened up and tried to act as casual as possible. That's when she turned around and frowned at him.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Hearing her shout, the guard at the door stopped Thomas by putting a hand on his torso.

"Where do you think you're going?"

More and more exasperated, Thomas grabbed Lydia by the wrist. "Look, I know her, okay? I can prove it to you – she has an IQ of 170, she's really good at math and-"

"You know her, great, but that doesn't mean you can go with her."

Lydia snatched her wrist from Thomas' grip. "I've never seen you in my life, buddy. And I've never done math before."

"Lydia-"

"It's a restricted area, kid." the guard said as she turned his back on him to go with the group of the chosen. "Now get your ass back in that chair."

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and glared at the guard. His thoughts claimed murder and he fully agreed with them, consequently he jumped on the guard and tried to push him away from the exit, yelling Lydia's name.

All of the Gladers were instantly on him and pulled him back until Rat Man, alerted by the noise, interposed himself between the guard and Thomas.

"Hey! Thomas, what's going on? I thought I said that there is no need to put on a show." He put his hand on the teen's shoulder and Thomas, more than ever, wanted to erase that smile from this face. "We're all on the same team here."

"Then why won't you tell me the truth?" Thomas murmured, a little too calm.

He could literally feel the tension in the air. Perhaps that was why Newt and Minho were ready to leap in case he did something reckless.

Rat Man let go of his shoulder. His smile was gone.

"I will see you again tomorrow morning, Thomas." he promised. He then gestured to the guard to come closer. "Get them to their bunks."

~Ξ~

"What the hell was that all about?!" Minho shouted once they were all thrown into their dormitory.

Thomas smirked and pulled out from his pocket the card he had stolen from the guard. "When I was running away I noticed the doors were all card-locked. So I ran for it." he explained.

"Literally." Winston said, quite impressed.

"They won't let me see Stiles and Teresa. I know they're lying, getting a blood sample from someone doesn't take a day, I know there's something else." He heard Newt groan. "They shut the door of our bunks, Newt, so we can't get out. Don't you think that's really fishy?"

"You caused a scene, shank, no wonder they're locking us up here!" Minho barked, annoyed.

"They're hiding something!" Thomas persisted. "Those people aren't who they say they are!"

"Thomas, you don't know that!" Newt shouted at him. "You've been here for a few hours, okay? We've been here almost two days, we would have noticed if something odd was going on here! They gave us new clothes, they gave us food, they gave us proper beds... some of us haven't had that in a long time."

"They're-"

"Some of us a lot longer than others." Newt concluded. "Stop being so selfish."

Thomas swallowed and stared at him, shameful. He had forgotten how long they all had passed in the Maze before his arrival.

Frypan cleared his throat. "Well, while we're all locked up here, maybe we can hear Thomas' story, huh?"

Newt fixed Thomas with a look before he turned his back on him and climbed the ladder to his bunk bed. Minho sat down on the edge of his own bed and looked at Thomas, waiting for him to talk first.

"Okay." Thomas then sighed. "Here we go."

He concluded his story an hour after these first words. He had been sometimes interrupted by the Gladers to add some information here and there but basically he had talked without a pause during an hour. Newt was the only one to stay silent.

"So the girl you saw at the refectory..." Minho began.

"Lydia." Thomas said.

"She was the twin of the other Lydia, right?"

"That's what I think. I mean, there's no other explanation, unless the other Lydia has lost her memories and is now in our world."

Minho frowned. "So if the other Lydia gets hurt, our Lydia too, am I right? Just like you and Stiles."

"I don't know. I guess, maybe. If other Lydia and Lydia here have the same thing that Stiles and I share, then yeah."

"Wow, this is giving me a headache." Winston groaned.

"Was the other Lydia as hot as Lydia here?" Frypan asked, interested.

Thomas stared at him in disbelief.

"Just askin'." the cook defended himself. "I mean, that would be nice getting some alone time with two identical and hot twins."

Winston nudged him and Thomas shook his head, trying to reconcentrate, but Newt's voice distracted him.

"Your story's too well-made to be fake but I still don't see why we shouldn't trust the guys who rescued us."

Thomas couldn't see his face as he was sitting right underneath him but he heard his lifeless tone. He was still mad at him.

"I'm trusting my instinct there, Newt, and right now it's screaming that something's wrong." he replied, getting up from the bed. He turned around to see his friend glaring at him with a bitter look on his face.

"Your instinct also told you to run between two closing doors. I call it a suicidal tendency."

"If I hadn't run between the doors, we wouldn't be out of the Maze by now-"

"Well maybe the Maze was better!" Newt exploded, jumping from his bed and shoving Thomas. The latter backed off, disconcerted. "Maybe we were all better without you! Remember Zack? Alby? You remember Chuck? They'd all still be alive if you weren't there!"

A loud explosion surprised them and Thomas instantly raised his arms to protect his face, only to find the dormitory unchanged. It took him a few seconds to understand that the weird noise was coming from his pants' pocket. Thomas feverishly grabbed the phone. Its screen was shining, and the music came again. It was actually a muffled deep voice whispering " _I am your father_ ", and Thomas noticed that on the screen shone instead of the group of friends an image of a smiling man around forty. On the picture was those three letters that Thomas wished he could say.

 ** _Dad_**

"What the hell-" he heard the others say. He frenetically brought the phone to his ear.

" _Stiles Stilinski, I swear if you're hunting monsters with your partner in crime_ once again _, I'm going to kick your pale little-_ "

"Mr Stilinski?"

" _Who do you think it is, son?! Listen Stiles, I'm willing to forget it all but – I'm just worried about you. I come back home and all I get is a little note and because of the Nogitsune incident a few weeks back, I-I'm just worried._ "

Thomas hated this kind of situation. He eyed the Gladers and tried to ignore the wrath on Newt's face and his words from a few seconds ago. "It's not Stiles, sir. I'm sorry but it's not -"

" _What the hell do you mean you're not-_ "

Silence fell from the other end of the line and Thomas bit his lower lip.

"Thomas, who the hell are you talking to-" Minho began, but he silenced him with a glare.

Shouts suddenly exploded and Thomas kept the phone away from his ear.

" _TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR YOU WILL HAVE THE ENTIRE POLICE DEPARTMENT OF CALIFORNIA TAILING YOUR ASS!"_

"If you want answers, go for Scott and Lydia, and... go for Scott's pack. But I'm sorry sir, I can't tell you anything it'll take too long and – I promise I'll find Stiles and I'll make it all right. He's gonna be okay."

 _"For everything that his holy – what do you mean, you_ -"

"Go for Scott."

Thomas brutally hung up and ignored from now on the furious "I am your father" ringing. He stared at the phone in his hand, slightly panting, a cold chill running down his spine.

"Thomas, would you mind explaining what the bloody hell just happened?" Newt said. His voice had lost its anger but Thomas didn't care anymore.

What just happened was completely unbelievable. Actually it was surreal, it couldn't be true. Phone calls needed satellites, and network, and radio. Plus, he was in a different dimension, so technically the conversation he just had should have happened in an hallucination. An hallucination shared by five people.

It meant the crack was still open. He just had to find a way to widen it.

"I think we really need to look for Stiles." he slowly said.


	10. Chapter 10

_I'm so proud of this chapter. It's eight pages Open Office and has a lot of running. Gargh._

 _Shadow-wolf78: Glad it makes sense then, and I hope it all will make sense here too! (well, when I say 'all'...)_

 _So you didn't have to wait very long for this chapter, but there will be maybe two weeks for the next one. School starts back. But hey, good thing: I got a Stilinski 24 sweatshirt for my birthday so I'm happy anyway._

 _Warning: Spoilers for TST_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

Tenth chapter

"Psst."

Thomas groaned and turned over, trying to find a better position. The mattress was a little hard but it was nothing compared to the ground in the pit back in the Glade. He should be having the best sleep he ever had but instead, he looked at the mattress on which Newt slept above him. His first real night where he could just lie down and rest without fearing an attack of Grievers or a psycho-wolf, no of course he had to rummage through his memories and think, think, until his mind was left exhausted.

He was exhausted and he couldn't sleep.

"Psst."

For once, he could sleep without being knocked out but his brain just wouldn't let him. He wanted to get out of here so bad, he wanted to wake up the Gladers and flee from this place, he wanted to find Teresa and Stiles and he wanted everything to be over. However he was stuck here, in this mattress, with a card-lock that couldn't open the door of their dormitory from the inside, and Newt wouldn't talk to him.

"Hey."

He wondered what was going on right now in the other dimension. Stiles' father was probably looking for his son, most likely thinking he had been abducted by a person with the same voice as his kid. Thomas hoped the man had been looking for Scott. He couldn't imagine how badly the pain was for a father to lose a child.

Yes, Thomas was still jealous of Stiles's luck: his twin had a parent, he practically had a normal life, he was able to have a proper education but he lived in a supernatural world, yes, Thomas would have preferred living in a world like Stiles's than in an apocalyptic planet. But still, Thomas wouldn't take Stiles's place, even if it meant an happy life for him. Because it wouldn't be fair to his doppelgänger, but especially because he couldn't abandon his friends in this hell. He would never abandon Minho, Newt, Teresa, Frypan and Winston. He had already left so many people behind that he couldn't give up on what had survived.

Stiles deserved to live happily ever after in his own world and Thomas was going to help him to get back home, but for that, he needed a plan.

"Hey, down here."

Thomas turned around one more time, finally hearing the voice coming from underneath his bed. He craned his head upside-down and noticed the air vent, and the small figure of a boy inside it. It took him half a second to recognize the kid who sat alone in the canteen.

The boy gestured him to keep quiet.

"Shh. Come on, follow me."

"What-" Thomas began but the kid was already starting to crawl back deeper into the air vent.

He didn't waste more seconds and followed him.

"Hey, where are you taking me?"

"Hurry, this way." the boy said by turning right.

This air vent's a Maze, Thomas thought to himself. He could have laughed if he wasn't so tensed.

"Wait a second-" Thomas whispered, trying to be as small as possible. His arms and knees were starting to hurt. "How – why-"

"We're almost there!" the kid kept interrupting him and Thomas sighed.

"What the hell am I doing..." He was supposed to at least try to sleep but no, instead he was crawling inside an air vent, following a stranger and heading god knew where.

Finally the kid stopped right above a window in the conduit.

"Where the hell are we going?" Thomas repeated once he was next to the boy.

"Shh. Watch."

If a look could kill, the boy would have been rotting by now, but Thomas was curious. They waited in silence a dozen of seconds, then when Thomas started to grow impatient, he finally saw a doctor accompanied by one of her colleague pushing an hospital bed. The bedclothes were covering a body so no one could see its face. The doctor used her card to unlock the doors, and they all disappeared inside the room.

"What the hell was that?" Thomas asked, disoriented.

"They're bringing new ones every night like clockwork." the kid answered.

"And what do they do with them?"

"I don't know. I've never been able to open the door. That's why I brought you here."

Thomas shifted his position, taken by surprise. "You saw me taking the card from the guard?"

"Yeah. And everyone here keeps talking about you. Assistant Director Janson, the doctors, even the guards, so I got curious. And now I know you know there's something going on here too."

"What does everyone say?" he asked, inquistive.

The kid stared at him. "That you could be their cure, their way out. You and... other you. I have no idea what they meant by that."

Thomas looked down at the now closed doors and the kid started to unscrew the window.

"Do you want to find out the truth?" the teen asked, and Thomas nodded feverishly, but he stopped him from unscrewing more.

"Wait, what's your name?"

"Aris."

"Well, I'm-"

"You're Thomas, yeah, I know. Heard a lot of your name the past two days."

Aris let half of the window hang and gestured to Thomas to go first, which he did. He let himself fall down as quietly as possible and Aris followed him right after, then closed the window to erase any trace of their presence. Thomas took out the card from his pocket, let the device near the doors scan it, and the entry opened.

None of the two were prepared to see bodies hanging from the ceiling, tubes sunk into their throats and entering their brain. Horrified, Thomas took a step forward. He didn't know if the teenagers were dead, but one thing was sure: death was more pleasant than this.

He got closer from a body, at the point where he could touch the teen, and saw that he was breathing. A vial made out of glass collected a blue fluid from the boy's body. Thomas stepped away from him. He wanted to puke.

A glimpse of red hair caught his eye. Frowning, he headed toward an other row of bodies.

Her hair covered her features and with a shaking hand he cleared her face.

He hadn't seen the other Lydia long enough to instantly tell it was her in front of him but he was sure no one else could have the same hair as her. They were her main feature, her imprint, and he let go of them.

"You know her?" Aris said beside him.

Thomas nodded and closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply. Even if it wasn't the Lydia Stiles knew, he still felt responsible.

He tried to avoid looking at the hanging bodies and walked to the end of the room, leaving Aris behind. He stopped in front of a large and black screen that could have been mistaken for the wall.

"Aris, do you know what this is?" he asked.

The screen activated at the sound of his voice and he jumped, startled. The white light blinded his eyes used to the dark.

" _Good evening_." a robotic voice said. " _What can I do for you?_ "

"Wow." Aris whispered as he walked to Thomas. "You activated the computer, Thomas!"

"How did I do that?" he murmured back, astonished.

"It probably works when it hears a voice." Aris looked around him to check if no one was around then turned back to the screen. "What are they doing to the teenagers here?" he asked to the computer.

" _World In Catastrophe Killzone Experiment Department is studying the brain of the teenagers who escaped the Mazes to try to find a cure for the lethal virus called the Flare. The teenagers are sedated and are not aware of their condition until imminent death._ "

"Wait – WICKED?" Thomas stammered. "We are held by WICKED?"

" _The subjects escaped the Maze and got rescued by a team sent by WICKED. Phase 2 is make the teenagers believe that they are safe so the level of adrenaline in their blood won't increase and disrupt the analyses and operations._ "

Thomas dug his fingernails into his palms only to find that they were now too short to draw blood. Anxiety had made him bite them.

This was sick. Inhuman. They were treated like guinea pigs, thrown away like garbage when they stopped being useful, reduced to specimens only good for what was in their brain. That was what they planned to do to him, Teresa and the Gladers.

"Do you have files about Stiles Stilinski?" he suddenly asked.

" _None. Files connected to that name: Thomas, Experimentation."_

"File about Thomas then."

Aris tapped his shoulder, growing impatient. "Hurry up, other doctors are gonna come soon."

" _Thomas, subject A2 of the second Maze._ " the computer finally declared. " _Only survivor of the Experimentation._ "

He felt Aris's gaze on him but he ignored it. "What's the Experimentation?"

" _The Experimentation is the awakening of sleeping parts of the primary somesthetic area of the brain and consequently the creation of a link between the same persons on two different realities, causing a Big Step possible. The Experimentation has already been successfully tested on rats and monkeys but has failed on the human. There is only one survivor of the operation, subject A2 Thomas, but he has shown no sign of change since. The Experimentation is now abandonned._ "

Thomas put his thumbs on his eyelids and pressed. Hard. He saw fireworks of all the colors and his brain was trying to comprehend what the computer had just told him.

"But what was the point of the Experimentation?" he murmured, only to be interrupted by the computer.

" _As the world we know today is inhospitable, the scientists had the idea to send the population in Demographic Escape Number 2 through the Experimentation, following the discovery of the other reality after the war back in 2020. DEN2 is declared as suitable for mankind with a level of technology of the 21_ _st_ _century but it is the host of more than seven billion people. The need of an extermination is to expect._ "

"What the hell-" Aris whispered but Thomas could only hear the buzzing getting louder in his head.

This was too much, he couldn't chew and swallow it whole at once, it was stuck in his throat, and he clasped his hands around his head, trying to digest but he felt sick. He felt like the kids hanging from the ceiling, tubes sunk in their throats, limbs numb, dead inside but alive somehow. "Thomas? You okay?" Aris asked next to him and Thomas nodded briefly, then shook his head, trying to see clear through the fog in front of his eyes. "You look like you're about to throw up."

He didn't know why he suddenly felt like that. Paralyzed, numb, drugged. He stumbled and fell on his knees, clenching a hand around his t-shirt right where beat his heart.

"Something's happening." he gasped. "Something's happening to Stiles."

There suddenly was a hissing, the sound of a door opening and Aris forced Thomas to hide behind a pillar while himself hid behind a fire extinguisher, or what looked like one.

"Computer, huh, turn yourself off!" the kid whispered and maybe it was luck, but the screen immediatly shut down and everything became black.

"Are you sure this can't wait?" Rat-Man's voice said, and simply hearing the man talk made Thomas come back to reality.

"She was very specific, sir." an other man replied, walking next to Janson, both heading toward the screen. "She wants to speak to you personally."

"Like I don't have enough to deal with."

Thomas crawled away when he saw Rat-Man walking toward him and tried his best to be as small as possible. Fortunately none of the men saw him and continued to walk until they stopped in front of the computer. The screen must have heard his voice and it immediatly showed a woman behind her desk, dressed as a doctor. Thomas choke down his gasp.

It was the woman who had killed herself when they escaped the Maze.

"Good evening, doctor Ava Paige." Janson welcomed and Thomas could hear the fake smile in his voice. "Happy to see you again, as I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon."

"Change of plans, Janson." the woman replied, standing up. "I'll be arriving a little sooner than expected, by that I mean tomorrow."

"Oh. Well... We're glad to have you... and you'll be pleased with the progress that we've made." Their was a coldness in the air, and Thomas knew these persons despised each other. Janson's assistant sent some documents through his tablet to the screen. "As you can see, it's extremely promising."

Thomas didn't understand what the documents meant but he knew it was bad news for him and his friends.

"Not enough promising." Ava Paige responded. "I want all the remaining subjects sedated and prepared for harvest by the time I arrive."

"Doctor Paige, we are going as fast as we can..."

"Try something faster. Until I can guarantee their security, this is the best plan."

"Ma'am, security is my job, we're on twenty-four hour locked-down here, I am assuring you that the assets are secure."

Ava Paige sarcastically smiled. "Have you found the right arm?"

"Not yet. They're trapped inside the mountains."

"So they're still out there! And they've already hit two of our installations! They want these kids as badly as we do, and I _cannot_ afford another loss. Not when I'm so close to a cure."

Rat-Man stared at the woman in silence for a few seconds.

"I may have found better than a cure."

Ava Paige, who had sat down behind her desk, raised her gaze at him. "What did you find?"

"One of your protégés. The so called Thomas." he replied, a bigger smile in his voice. "And he did it. He went to DEN2 and came back with his-self."

Thomas felt Aris' gaze on him and he ignored it, choosing to focus on the woman's reaction. She was left her mouth half-hanging open and a light shone in her eyes, but she quickly pulled herself together.

"This forces me to change the initial plan." she murmured. "You will start with the recent arrival but take very special care of Thomas and his-self, I don't want them to slip between our fingers."

"The boy's other self is already taken care of. Our doctors are currently running tests on him."

Thomas felt something inside him break and that was probably why he didn't hear Ava Paige's answer but he didn't care anymore.

That was why he had suddenly felt weak, and now weaker every minute. They were taking Stiles's life away from him.

Rat-Man briefly nodded and stepped back, probably thinking the conversation was over and Thomas turned around to hide behind the pillar, but Ava Paige called him back.

"I don't want them to feel any pain."

Two seconds passed. "They won't feel a thing." Janson promised. When he turned away from the screen, Thomas had the time to glimpse the look on his face and the lie he just told.

~Ξ~

When Thomas escaped the air vent and entered the dormitory, the noise he made could have probably awoken the dead. On all the beds, the Gladers jolted awake with surprised yells, especially when he shouted "WAKE UP, WE GOTTA GO!" with a panicked voice.

"Thomas?" Minho shouted, half-asleep but ready to kick someone's butt, as always. "What the hell-"

" _Right now_!" Thomas screamed back. He snatched the sheets from a random bed on his way to the door and tried to block the handle, making it hard to open the door. "They're coming, we gotta go!"

"Has he gone crazy?" Frypan muttered.

"Thomas, talk to us!" Newt said. "What d'you mean by 'they're coming'?!"

"It's _WICKED_!" Thomas snapped. He was met by four shocked face. "Okay? It's WICKED and it always has been."

Thomas lifted a mattress and totally obstructed the exit.

"Hey." Newt slowly said besides him and Thomas looked up, panting. "What did you see?"

Thomas wanted to tell them everything, spill out all he had seen, but they didn't have the time for that. They barely had the time to escape.

His throat was dry but he still managed to swallow. "You gotta trust me." he said. Every breath he took made him feel dizzy and he knew it was a matter of minutes for Stiles to become an other cold corpse. "Please." he added.

Aris's arrival must have probably decided the others, especially when the kid started to wave frenetically at them and shout that Janson and Ava Paige were going to kill them right now if they didn't move their sorry asses.

The air vent was as uncomfortable as ever but no one complained, probably too scared for their own life to care for the bruises. Thomas crawled out of the vent first, quickly got to his feet and gestured to the others to hurry. Once everyone was out of it, they all ran down the hallway and turned right to face a very surprised doctor.

"What are you kids doing out?" she asked, and suddenly an alarm went off. Thomas raised his brow at her.

"Where are Teresa and Stiles?" he hurried.

The doctor's gaze went from Minho's clenched fists to Frypan's deadly frown and she eventually decided that the best was to answer with honesty.

"Lead the way." he ordered by pushing her forward.

They ran and turned and ran for a long while without meeting anyone until a lone guard used their heads as targets for the electrified bullets of his gun. Thomas didn't know which one he hated most, the fear of his face being teared off by werewolf claws, or the horror of turning into fried meat. He didn't know how Minho did it, but his friend managed to knock out the guard by jumping on him and slamming him against the wall. Thomas picked up the weapon. He may dislike being fried but fry the others didn't bother him.

"Where are they?!" he yelled, pointing the gun at the doctor's chest.

"We're getting closer!" she promised, terrified.

They turned once again and without any warning, his legs gave up on him and he fell to the ground, his breath coming in short gasps. Someone was instantly on him and helped him to get up but the world was blur and distortions.

"C'mon, Thomas! We're almost there!"

"Hold on, shank."

A door opened and Minho stepped in to point the gun he had picked up at the doctors' heads.

"Where is she?" he asked menacingly. "And where's the other?"

Winston and Newt – he now realized it was them who had lifted him – didn't release their grip on him, but he made them free him when Minho budged a screen because behind it, lying down on a bed, stood the small figure of Teresa.

He almost fell down on his way to her but he had somehow found the strength to reach her and snatch the tubes from her nose.

"What did they do to you..." he whispered, touching her forehead covered with sweat.

"Tom -" she gasped, slowly waking up. "What are you doing here? You look awful."

"So do you." he replied. He could never express how happy he was to see her alive and well. "C'mon, we gotta go."

The phone against his leg suddenly started vibrating and he picked up with shaky hands while Teresa tried to stand up.

" _I've been trying to get to you for hours-_ " someone said, probably Scott, but he wasn't sure.

"Listen guys, now's not really a good time!" he screamed into the phone. "Hold on a sec, okay?!"

He put the phone back into his pocket without hanging up and turned around to face the doctors gagged by Newt.

"Where's Stiles?!" he shouted. He walked toward one of them to punch him maybe, he didn't know what he really wanted to do, but the look on his face made the man yelp and desperately point the other operation room at the opposite of this one. Only problem, there was a window of glass between the two.

He grabbed a stool and hit the surface with it but it only made him stumble and pant as if he had just ran a marathon.

"I got it." Newt said as he took the stool from him.

Frypan helped him and it took them a stool and a chair to break the glass. Thousands of sharp little debris fell to the ground and Teresa covered the fragments with her bedsheet to help Thomas cross.

The phone dropped when he landed hard on his knees and he picked it up, tried to focus on its weight to stay awake.

" _Thomas, is everything okay?_ " he heard Scott say.

Does it really seem to be okay? he wanted to reply, but he was afraid he would pass out from the exhaustion if he opened his mouth and moved his tongue and let the air in his lungs produce a sound.

Newt had grabbed a pair of scissors and threatened the doctors from this room with them. In front of him, Aris budged a sheet to reveal a second bed, identical to the one where Teresa had lied a minute ago.

A veil covered Thomas's eyes. He wondered if it would be better if he just closed his eyes and let himself go. If dying would be better than running.

Teresa's hands on his shoulders, shaking him, yelling at him to stay awake

(" _Tom, stay with me! Tom! Do you hear me? THOMAS_ ")

was enough to tear the veil apart. He gasped for air, looked up to see Teresa ready to slap him, and she did, she slapped him and the burn on his cheek felt so real, so alive that he knew he couldn't just leave.

Newt gave the scissors to Teresa and helped Thomas to get up and head toward the bed where Stiles lied.

Just like the girl, he had tubes in his nose, but unlike her, he seemed to be buried in a sleep where no one could awake him. Newt cringed when he saw the boy but he quickly got a hold of himself and removed the intravenous from his arm.

"You really weren't kidding when you said he was your bloody twin. You holding on, Tommy?"

Thomas nodded but the paleness of his face screamed the opposite. Newt tapped Stiles's cheeks.

"No, he's definitely out. We're gonna have to carry him."

"No." Thomas said with difficulty.

He brought the phone he still had in his hand to his ear.

"Scott?"

" _Thomas! I keep hearing screams from where you are! Are you okay, is Stiles alright?_ "

"I-" he tried to reply, but what came out seemed more like a groan than anything.

Newt took the phone from him and Thomas didn't have the strength to take it back.

"You must be Thomas's pup friend, right?" the British said as he watched Teresa and Aris immobilize and gag the doctors with ribbons.

" _What-_ "

"Yeah, Tommy told us about your crew. Does anyone from your wolf pack know how to wake up a comatose guy?"

" _Huh.._."

" _I do._ " a girl voice said from the phone, and Thomas looked up, surprised. " _A dose of sugammadex combined with a little of adrenaline could wake up a horse. But be careful, it's very violent."_

"But it works?"

 _"Are you taking me for an amateur?"_

"Lydia?" Thomas managed to say.

" _Hey there Thomas._ " she replied, a smile in her voice. " _You find a way to get Stiles back, alright? He has friends and a father to get back to."_

"Y'have my word."

" _We'll call ba-_ "

Newt hang up and brandished the syringe he had filled up with the sugammadex and adrenaline he had found in the drawers.

"They should've called me after Pasteur." he grumbled and on that, he injected the contents of the syringe into a vein in Stiles's right arm.

The result was instantaneous: Stiles jolted awake and gasped for air, nearly fell on Thomas who suddenly felt a rush of energy flood through his entire body. Newt threw away the syringe and helped a groggy Stiles to stand up by himself.

"What the hell happened-" the teen said, staring down at his hospital clothes.

"GUYS!" Minho yelled from the other room. "THEY'RE COMING IN!"

Besides him, Frypan and Winston were using the furniture to block the door but it wasn't going to hold a siege.

"I didn't remember foxfire being that violent..." Stiles recalled, checking himself for any physical injury.

"You stay behind me." Thomas said to him.

He didn't wait to know if Stiles had heard to open the door facing him and find himself face to face with an armed guard. The man raised his weapon so the barrel touched Thomas's chest. Pulled the trigger.

There was an enourmous bang and the guard flew six feet away, body convulsing as an electrified bullet was stuck in his torso.

Thomas turned around to see Stiles, gun he had snatched from Minho still in hand.

"It was you or him. There wasn't even a choice."

Thomas briefly nodded and without waiting for something else to happen, took the gun from him and bolted, the others running off beside him.

He ran alongside Stiles and he could literally feel his fear, anxiety and confusion. It was as if the more time they passed together and close to each other, the more sentiments they could share. It scared the crap out of Thomas.

"The door!" Winston yelled. "That's where we arrived here!"

Thomas and his long legs were the first to stop in front of the exit and he pulled out the card, scanned it.

"C'mon, c'mon..." he groaned. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Finally, at the third scan, the door raised up. Teresa was the first to go, crawling to get through, then it was Frypan, then Aris and Winston, then Newt helping Stiles who still felt weak – Thomas could feel it.

From the corner of his eye, Thomas saw Rat-Man and his personal guard running toward them.

"You won't last a day out there in the Scorch!" Janson said, but Thomas didn't want to hear anything coming out of his mouth ever again.

He aimed at the man and pulled the trigger.

Missed his target by an inch.

Minho screamed at him and Thomas finally made his legs run to join the others who had managed to pull the lever, opening the enourmous gate that claimed freedom.

Freedom had the taste of wind and dust, but they still ran until the air in their lungs turned into fire and that their legs felt as rough as the desert they stood in.

Back in the beginning.


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you so much for your patience, it's just that a lot suddenly happened in my life outside the internet and I got overwhelmed by it, but now I have a break and I finally finished that chapter. I don't know if I'm proud of it... I did my best. Sorry again for those damned mistakes. Thank you so much for all those kind reviews, they make me smile!_

 _cecld16:_ _You'll get your answer soon... possibly in this chapter? Who knows... Thank you for enjoying my story!_

 _Guest: Same as cecld16, you'll get answers soon... x)_

 _ArgntumAlphaLupus: Keep picking randomly stories, that's how you find gold sometimes! ;) Thank you!_

 _TheHunterofFandoms16: Well I hope you'll keep liking the story! I'm just so in love with parallel universes since Doctor Who!_

 _hannah roberts.5095110: Wow, thanks! :D Here's the chapter you craved for!_

 _MsSquidRunner : You think so? Geez, thanks a lot! :D I tried to be as quick as possible, but life decided otherwise :P Here's that new chapter, and remember that you're pretty awesome too, you and your long review ;)_

 _ **Ad time:** The fabulous  nikki bala wrote a translation of Him! If you speak Polish or if you are learning Polish, you can check the translation on deviantart. She goes by the username Ogrodniczka. Thank you Nikki! She also made me notice and change a mistake in the 6th chapter, because Thomas kind of betrayed Stiles and it was completely OOC._

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 ** _TRIGGER WARNING: explicit gore/shocking scene. This story isn't rated M because it's not extremely graphic but the end of this chapter might be. Read at your own risk if you are triggered by blood or other things that should stay inside the body._**

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Eleventh chapter

Thomas was tired. Tired of running. Tired in a way where he thought he could just lie down, close his eyes and that was it, he couldn't stand up anymore, his legs wouldn't carry him because he ran too much. He was afraid to run too far away and to not be able to stop. It was night, near midnight, but there were no shining stars in the sky. They were hidden by the screaming storm. And they had to run, run for their lives. Escape WICKED. Escape the insanity of this world.

It was probably what kept him running. The wind slapped his face and the sand turned into mini tidal-waves, but the whole group kept running. What motivated them were the sounds coming from the facility they were leaving behind them. Shouted orders, ringing alarms, and the roar of bikes and cars ready to chase them.

"Hey, over there!" Teresa called.

Between two slaps from the wind, Thomas saw the girl pointing at some sort of a hangar buried in the sand. Only its entry was visible, making it a good place to hide.

"Let's go inside!" he shouted to the others. "It can't be worse than the storm." Oh how he wanted to stop running and to fall on a comfortable mattress - how long had it been since his last good night of sleep?

Teresa pushed the door open and fell inside, the others on her trail. Thomas quickly joined them, letting himself slide down the hill of sand and getting his balance back.

It was darker than outside. Actually he couldn't see a thing and the only thing that told him his friends were next to him were their whizzes. Minho must have found a way to switch on the light on the gun they had stolen because he illuminated Winston's face, making the kid blink and groan. The Asian whispered an apology and lighted their surroundings.

Not a hangar. A mall, he rectified.

Thomas stepped forward as soon as he saw they were alone in the building. "We gotta go." he repeated.

"Wait, Thomas!" Teresa shouted, making him stop to turn around and look at her. "Tell me what's going on."

Stiles crossed his arms. "Yeah, you owe me an explanation too. Like, where am I, are those your phone-less friends you've been talking about?"

At the sound of his voice, the Gladers stared at him as if they were facing an extraterrestrial. Stiles noticed their looks.

"I'm Stiles, by the way, hello." he muttered.

Thomas walked to Teresa. "It's WICKED." he answered. "It's WICKED, they lied to us, we never escaped the Maze. Aris and I found bodies, too many to count."

"Dead bodies?" Minho asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "No, bodies of water, what do you think?"

Minho glared at him. "I think that your face creeps me out."

"Don't worry, the feeling's mutual."

"Guys, slim it." Newt interrupted. "Now's not the time to argue."

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and went on. "They weren't dead but I'm not sure they were alive either." he explained. "They were strung up, tubes coming in their throats, and something was pulled out of them, something in their blood. That's why we have to get as far away from there as possible."

Newt let go a sigh. "Okay. What's the plan?"

Thomas didn't have a clue.

"You do have a plan, right?" Newt persisted.

He just stared at him, trying to come up with something, anything.

"We followed you out, and now you're saying that you have no idea what we're doing or where we're going?" the British exploded. "Are you bloody fucking with us?!"

"Hold on." Stiles murmured. Seven faces turned toward him. "I think I got something."

They all waited five seconds in silence while Stiles tried to organize his thoughts.

"Come on, spit it out." Minho said, but Frypan nudged him.

"I just wanna know everything before. You owe me that." Stiles bargained.

Minho let out a groan. "Are you kidding – no, you say what's on your mind right now or-"

"Or what?" Stiles snapped. "You kick my butt? Well I'm sorry buddy but I've seen way worse than you in my life." He held out his hands and started to count on his fingers while he talked. "One, my best friend Scott tried to kill me several times during the full moon, two, an Alpha werewolf tried to end me and my friends, three, a guy I hated turned into a lizard and we had to save him, four I got beaten up by one of my friend's hunter grandpa, five, a crazy psycho Dark Druid tried to kill my friends and my dad, six, Lydia had to drown me to death in order to save our parents, seven, I completely lost it and I got possessed by a japanese demon, and last but not least, I'm now travelling between worlds and I just woke up in a room where crazy scientists wanted to open my brain like a watermelon; but don't worry there's plenty more but I just can't remember 'em right now."

Everyone was staring at him, some in respect, some in confusion. Stiles dropped his hand and averted their eyes.

Thomas felt like he wanted to punch a wall and end up breaking his wrist, and he quickly understood that it was because _Stiles was angry_. Angry wasn't the word: pissed off, furious suited more. He was fed up with it, he just wanted to go home and let it all end. Thomas closed his fists, released them, tried to control those emotions that weren't his.

"I'm gonna tell you everything." he promised, looking at Stiles in the eye. "But let's find somewhere to rest first, okay? We'll stay here for the night and hope they'll stop looking for us." (a mattress, he hoped. I want to sleep on a real mattress)

"Guys, check this out." Minho whispered behind him and he turned around, surprised. The Asian had crouched and illuminated the ground with the flashlight. Footmarks.

"You sure you want us to stay for the night?" Winston asked. "'cause someone's definitely been down here."

Thomas let out a muffled sigh of despair. They were never going to get a break.

"We can still explore a little." Teresa proposed. "Maybe there are weapons, food, or anything." Mattresses, thought Thomas. He noticed Stiles' weird look on him and replied with a glare, and his twin shrugged with half a smile.

"Good that." Newt replied. "I don't want to charge at whatever's down here without at least a stick."

~Ξ~

"So what happened? I mean, after Deucalion forced Kira to electrocute me."

Thomas knelt down and picked up a bag to empty it on the floor. What came out of it were empty cans, a bottle without water and crusty gloves. He took the bottle, hoping he could fill it later. "When I woke up we were here." he answered, standing up. "In my world. In the desert."

He glanced at Frypan who had found a working flashlight. Minho was still trying to figure out where the generator for the light was while Teresa rummaged through a sack.

Stiles examined a pile of clothes and started to chose the ones they could wear. "You have an idea why that happened?"

"Only suppositions." Thomas threw away a pair of worn out shoes. "You got electrocuted, and I guess that made us come here."

Stiles stared at another pile of stuff. "Did you hurt your cheek?"

"Huh?"

"Your cheek." he repeated as he turned around to look at Thomas across the dark room. "It's bruised."

"Oh." Thomas absently rubbed his cheek, feeling the small hole into the flesh. "Yeah. Deucalion did it. It's nothing. Doesn't even hurt anymore." He checked if the barrels against the wall were full.

Stiles let go of the little doll he had found and walked to Thomas. "I felt it." he said and Thomas looked at him with a frown. "It kept scratching and I didn't even know why."

"We're connected." the tanned teen thought out loud. "That's what the computer said."

"The same thing happened to me when you got knocked out by the big bad wolf." Stiles continued. "I even bled from the nose even though no one, nothing hit me."

Thomas sensed both of their minds boiling. "And when you got electrocuted, I felt it too. I was out but I remember the pain, that's what woke me up."

"Maybe that's what triggered it." Stiles concluded, his eyes wide from the delight of finally finding a lead. "We both felt an intense thing at the same time!"

The barrels were dry.

Thomas shook his head. "No." he firmly responded. "I had to do the Big Step to get to your world in the first place but you didn't feel... what I felt."

Stiles pushed a piece of torn blanket with the end of his shoe. "Yeah..." he said, disappointed. He suddenly straightened up and stared at Thomas who felt that his twin had a burst of energy. "No, hold on – when you came here, it was just after your friend... passed away, right?"

Thomas nodded, silently thanking his choice of words.

"I guess you felt what everyone could feel at that point. Dread, loss, distress... you know the thing."

Thomas nodded again, trying to repulse the memories away.

"So that's why!" Stiles shouted, raising his arms to the ceiling.

"Hey, slim it a little, would you?" Minho groaned from the outside of the room. "I don't want those fucking soldiers to come after us because two idiots couldn't keep their mouths shut."

Thomas didn't comprehend what Stiles was trying to say but he had a feeling he was going to understand it soon.

Stiles lowered his voice. "You felt a mix of strong, powerful and raw emotions that made you lose it." Thomas thought back to his thanking – Stiles wasn't very good at picking euphemisms actually. "But I didn't. How could I, I was in my bed trying to count sheep. So your emotions triggered something inside you, it triggered what the Experiment had done to your brain, and bam! you were here. Of course I wasn't because I didn't feel the same thing as you but your own emotions were enough to bring you here."

Thomas didn't nod. He stared into Stiles' eyes, tried to decide if that possible truth was receivable.

"It could be." he murmured.

"Damn right it could." Stiles said back. "Always trust me, rule number one."

"Found a stick!" Newt said and the others cheered him with muffled yeahs.

Stiles looked over at the Gladers, slightly frowning. He was trying to put names on their faces.

"Who's the kid over there?" he asked, pointing at Aris who was chatting with Teresa.

"It's Aris." Thomas replied. "He's the one who persuaded me that something fishy was going on. If he wasn't there, we'd all be dead by now."

Stiles nodded. "You got good friends." he finally said. "Reminds me of the pack."

Thomas tapped on a jacket to dust it, then he put it on. "We'll bring you back." he promised. "We'll find a way."

"But what if I'm right and that I can only leave by feeling a raw emotion..."

"We'll figure it out." Thomas said, trying to be convicing. He couldn't feel hopeless right now, not when they just had escaped from WICKED, not when they were in deep crap because they totally were, he had no idea where to go, what to do. They didn't have food, they didn't have water, they wore whatever they could find and soon they'll be stinking. He had to bring hope to his friends, he had to show that he was in control. ( _He wasn't in control.)_

Thomas suddenly remembered the bump in his pants' pocket and held out the phone to him. "I took it from you while you were unconscious." he explained with one of his rare smiles. "It brought me luck as Scott and Lydia called and helped me waking you up." He saw Stiles' smile and he thought that maybe they were going to be alright after all. "Your dad called too." he concluded.

Stiles turned his head so fast Thomas thought his neck would snap. "Oh shit." he murmured. "I left him a note saying that I'd call him but of course I couldn't call him... How was he when he called?"

Thomas shrugged. "Pretty worried."

"Shit." Stiles repeated. His thumb brushed over one of the keys and he pressed it, making the screen light up. He entered the code and groaned. "Damnit. 3% of battery left. How long has it been on?"

"Huh... I didn't know how to turn it off."

Stiles winced. "Shit."

"Yeah, I heard that the first time." Thomas said.

Stiles stared at him with an eyebrow raised and suddenly had to silence his explosive laughter behind his sleeve. Thomas bit his lower lip but it was hard not to laugh when he could feel and hear Stiles' hilarity. He quickly shushed him with a last smile. Shook his head.

How long had it been since his last real laugh? He couldn't remember.

WICKED had stole happiness from him, but now he had escaped from them. He was free. He was with his friends, out there, in the real world full of danger and death, but he was free. And for a second, he thought that they would be okay. That everything would be okay.

Of course his optimistic thoughts were quickly shut down by his eternal pessimism.

"Deucalion wanted to bring Void back." he deadpanned. Stiles choke on his last giggle and stared at him, waiting for what was to come next. "He didn't succeed, did he? Or else you wouldn't be you."

Stiles simply stared at Thomas with a blank expression, then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Nogitsune's a trickster." he let out. "But he's dead. He's buried in his little wooden box and he'll never come out of it." He was more trying to convince himself than anything and he was aware of it but still he went on. "Kira's foxfire couldn't make him take control again because he's _dead_."

"Alright." Thomas whispered. "Alright I got it."

His twin huffed. "You really are a buzzkill, aren't you?" he said with an unamused laugh.

Thomas didn't respond. He walked to the pile of wearable clothes Stiles had made and threw a t-shirt to Teresa who caught it.

"Even if it's hot the day, the night's freezing, so we better put on more than one stuff." he said to the others.

Newt sat down and took off his old shoes as their sole was too thin. He grabbed new ones, checked the size and probably decided it was big enough for his feet as he didn't hesitate to lace up the sneakers around his ankle. Frypan glanced at Teresa who was pulling her t-shirt over her head, but the British noticed him and with a finger, made him look at him instead.

"What?" Frypan whispered. If it wasn't that dark and if his skin wasn't that black, Newt could've sworn he was blushing like hell.

"Control your hormones." he said back with a smile.

Stiles stood awkwardly in the middle of the shop, out of his element.

He felt like he knew these people since he could remember but he knew it wasn't true. He knew Teresa's icy blue eyes just like he could recognize Scott's eyes in a crowd of a hundred brown-eyed people. He knew Minho was a deapdpan snarker and a powerful leader just like he had known for Lydia's genius brain. He knew Winston was annoying but stubborn and that he would follow Thomas until the very end, just like he could say with Isaac.

"So you're gonna tell us your plan then, now Thomas told you everything?" Aris asked him as he wrapped a scarf around his neck.

"Hum, yeah." he said as he stopped tapping the ground with his shoe. His entire body vibrated with anxiety and he was sure Thomas was aware of that.

Speaking of the devil, he saw that his twin had heard Aris and he came closer to him. There was a calm about him that reassured Stiles but he knew it was just a facade. He could feel how anxious he was and that multiplied his own nervousness.

"But Minho's missing." he concluded. "Where's he?"

"With Winston." Thomas casually replied. "They're looking for people and if they're lucky, a generator."

"For the light?"

"Yeah."

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. Right now, he really wanted to smack the top of his twin's head like he often did to Scott when he did or said something stupid.

"I hope you're kidding."

"Well I thought you knew." Thomas defended himself with a shrug.

Stiles nearly facepalmed but instead he closed his hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. "Oh I'm so stupid." he muttered. "I forgot you never played Left 4 Dead before. Or The Last of Us. Or even watched any zombie movie for that matter."

Thomas frowned. "What-"

"Remember when you told me there was a deadly virus that exterminated half of the planet, huh?!"

"Get to the point-"

"What do you think's going to happen once they've found the generator and switched on the light, huh?!" Stiles cried out, surprising the others. Newt approached the two and tried to shush the paler one. "Yeah, armies of flesh-eating monsters going for our guts, you call it." Stiles went on. Thomas could feel his sudden terror and it made his stomach churn.

He quickly made up his mind and ran for the door, exited the shop with Newt and Aris on his trail, asking what was going on, but he didn't have the time to answer because in a second, all the lights around them, the spotlights, lanterns, even the televisions, it all illuminated the décor with a noise that could wake up the dead.

Stiles was on his side instantly. "That's a good thing I'm a marksman in Call of Duty."

Thomas turned around to Frypan, Aris and Teresa.

"Grab your stuff, we're going!" He didn't need to whisper anymore anyway.

"Thomas what's going on?" Teresa shouted.

"What's going on is that you're not going to survive a single day in here if you keep screwing up!" Stiles replied angrily.

Thomas instinctively extended an arm that smacked Stiles in the chest when they heard inhuman screams and wails coming from upstairs. Two figures were frenetically running toward them at the end of the hallway.

"Minho and Winston?" Frypan suggested, but he didn't seem so hopeful.

Two figures plus a dozen behind them.

"And co." Stiles whispered. He caught Thomas's arm and didn't wait for Minho to order them to go to run as fast as he could. Behind them, Newt shouted an impressive "oh shit!", which was a suitable reaction.

They all caught up to Thomas and Stiles, flashlights lighting up their surroundings or else they would stumble against the piles of debris, fall and probably die horribly.

"RIGHT!" Minho screamed and they all blindly obeyed.

Thomas jumped on the first steps of the dead escalator and pushed Stiles forward without trying to be gentle; the boy didn't seem to care, too terrified for his own life. Minho followed the teen with Newt, Frypan, Teresa and Winston, and Thomas grabbed Aris' arm and forced him to run up the stairs as fast as he could without falling.

Something took him by the collar of his jacket and strangled him. Thomas let out a yelp and tumbled hard on his back against the steps. An horrible face, veiny, bloody and screaming face came into his view and opened its mouth to bite off his nose – he tried to push it away by putting an arm under its throat.

The Crank bellowed something unintelligible that couldn't even pretend to be words. A bubble of phlegm tainted its lips with crimson and the smell of rotten flesh, pus and death made Thomas want to puke. He screamed and kneed the monster where it should hurt but the Crank couldn't feel anything but madness and fury.

All of a sudden its face was half ripped out by the end of a stick and Thomas stopped screaming to grab Newt's offering hand and get up.

"Well guess the stick came to handy." the British let out.

"RIGHT AGAIN!" Minho shouted from afar. "What the fuck are you two slintheads doing, taking a nap?!"

Thomas and Newt darted forward, the small army of Cranks on their trail.

It was a total nightmare, concluded Stiles. The mall was gigantic and he kept tangling his feet on the dead rotten bodies on the ground and the piles of whatever-the-hell-he-ran-on. He focused on his earing and his sight to see Minho at the front holding the flashlight, though he couldn't help but glance behind him every second in case his doppelgänger or his english friend had somehow got caught by the zombies. Even though he knew he would have _felt_ _it_.

There was a noise of broken glass behind him. He glanced upon his shoulder and nearly tripped on Teresa but it was only Thomas who had pushed a Crank off the guardrail of glass. The scream of the creature echoed until its head exploded on the first floor sixteen feet lower.

"What's your plan?!" Aris cried out next to him.

Stiles stared at Minho's flashlight, both his and Thomas' adrenaline pumping through his veins. An hour ago he was half-dead, in some sort of a coma, now he was running for his life in a mall while chased by zombies. He hated this dimension.

"I don't think now's really the time!" he replied between two breaths.

Stiles was never a champion for racing. He was actually very bad at it. He just couldn't run straight, he always flailed his arms around like an idiot, and he had to stop after two ground rounds. However he felt different, stronger somehow. He figured it was because of Thomas.

Guess their connection worked to his benefit.

"Left!" Minho said and they obeyed once more.

Their leader slammed his shoulder against the only door standing in their way, cursing like a trooper when he understood the door wouldn't break down.

Stiles tried to gain his breath and watched as Minho kicked the handle with his foot, hurting himself in the process. Frypan pushed him away and tried to smash the door open, but something was blocking it from the other side.

And Cranks were coming their way. Fast.

Thomas joined Frypan and the two of them pushed the door with every bit of strength they had left, and they did manage to pry it half-open, but the goddamn creatures were already there and Winston grabbed the gun from Minho's hands, telling him to help Thomas and Frypan, and he shot at the Cranks, sometimes missing, once shooting one right between the eyes; Stiles wanted to close his eyes and bury himself in a hole, and he just wished he had accepted Peter's bite so he could kill every single one of the Cranks right here right now and he just had enough he wanted it to end it couldn't worsen it couldn't

 _Stupid_.

 _Utter cretin_.

Of course now was the time to tell them. Of course it was

( _god freaking damnit why didn't he tell it earlier how stupid)_

the time!

"I know how to get out of here guys! Hey, listen to me, I'm gonna tell you-" he cried out but at the same time the thing blocking the door broke and Thomas and Frypan, carried by momentum, nearly fell on each other and Winston wasted his last bullet on a Crank and it was over.

One of the remaining creatures – _there were so many –_ jumped on Winston and the kid let out a strangled scream when the monster bit him right where the vein was pulsing, at the jugular. The blood spurt out of the gaping wound and Teresa let out an horrified scream but Stiles didn't think twice; he snatched Winston's gun from his spasming hand, jumped on the Crank's back and slammed the stock repeatedly on its head until the skull cracked open and he saw the brain boiling underneath the strands of scorched hair.

Over Winston's gargles, he heard a bang behind him and when he turned around he was glad that Teresa and Aris had his back as they had just saved him from being killed by other Cranks. He got up in a flash and Minho grasped Winston's arms to drag him away from the Cranks. Stiles took the teenager's feet and they exited the deadly corridor-

only to step in a dead-end.

The only way out was in front of them, but for that they had to jump and land 6 feet ahead. The floor must have collapsed, leaving a hole resembling the pits of hell.

Teresa, Aris, Newt and Minho followed them, chased by three Cranks but Frypan and Thomas closed the door right back. An burnt arm got stuck along with a foot but they pushed pushed _pushed_ until the arm and the foot broke and just hung, harmless.

"What happened?!" Thomas screamed, back pressed against the door to keep it shut.

"Winston got bit!" Stiles replied.

He was on his knees next to Winston but he quickly found out there was nothing he could do. Blood was spurting everywhere and the teenager's screams were blocked by the liquid overflowing his throat and he threw up red on Stiles' legs. Newt did his best, pressed his hands against the gaping wound, trying to stop the flow, and Stiles looked up to see Thomas who was slowly realizing the severity of the situation.

"Fuck-" Minho whispered.

"He's going to die-" Aris murmured.

"Please no-" Teresa mumbled, her hand pressed to her mouth as she watched, eyes filled with tears, Winston bleeding out.

Stiles stared at Thomas.

He realized just now. He realized none of these people could heal as fast as werewolves. He realized this world was as fucked up as it seemed to be in Thomas' words. There was nothing he, there was nothing they could do to stop Winston's death. He didn't even know the kid -

His vision blurred and he realized he was crying.

Tears and flashes of light occupied his sight.

 _No._

 _They didn't escape WICKED to just die in a mall._

Flashes of light-

He had to do something, anything, but what? And other Cranks were starting to ram the door from the other side. Minho teared his gaze away from Winston and helped Thomas to hold the door shut.

Fucking flashes of light he couldn't see straight now-

There was blood everywhere on his pants on his palms on Newt's hands on the ground on the floor in the air everywhere and he wasn't okay he was dizzy he was giddy his stomach churned and he remembered Allison's body in Scott's arms, covered in blood, her nails painted red blood red, dead, pale, dead-

Flashes of light?

"Stiles!" Thomas screamed, his eyes bulging.

"I see it." he answered, transfixed by the flashes.

It was white and so pure and he was sure that if he stared at it any longer he was going to go blind. It was like a crack into thin air, frozen lightning, and if he stepped closer, he knew he could see _the other side_ , the other dimension, _his_ dimension.

His plan worked out well after all. Except now he knew someone has to die for it to achieve.

"Thomas, we have to go inside!" he cried out.

Winston gargled. There was no time to waste.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?!" Newt shouted, still pressing his hands to the horrifying injury.

Stiles kept staring at Thomas and right now he could swear he knew exactly what his doppelgänger was thinking.

" **We can do this.** "

"But what about the others?" Stiles murmured and even if he was sure there was no way Thomas could have heard him, he did.

" **We're taking them with us. We can do this.** "

Except he didn't say anything. Stiles understood all that just by looking at him.

" **We won't be able to hold the door any longer, so it's either we all die here, either we jump!"**

"What do we do?!" Teresa screamed, totally panicked.

"We jump." Thomas repeated but out loud this time.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Minho cried out.

Stiles tried to unsee Winston's convulsing body. Tried not to think about his imminent death. Tried to ignore his last spasms.

"We have to try!" Thomas explained, his eyes darting from the crack to Winston.

"We can't leave Winston here!" Teresa said. Her eyes were swollen from all the unshed tears.

Stiles held his breath, suddenly very aware of the lack of hiccups and gargles.

Thomas stared at Winston's unmoving form. His face distorted in an agony expression. " **I'm sorry**." he said, except his lips didn't move. Yet Stiles heard it.

"Do you trust me?" he asked and this time Stiles distinctly heard his voice.

They all nodded in silence.

"Everyone take my hand. Or Stiles', it doesn't matter."

Newt stood back up and placed his hand covered in Winston's blood into Stiles'. There was nothing he could do now anyway. Winston was gone. The blood on Newt's palm stuck to Stiles' fingers and he knew it would be hard to wash it away.

Teresa hesitated a second and took Thomas' hand while Aris decided to take Stiles' other one. Frypan put his palm into Thomas'. Minho was left alone.

"I don't get a shuck thing but I trust ya." he simply said to his runner companion, and on that, he placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"At three?" Thomas asked.

He winced when the Cranks tried to force the door to open once more.

" **One**." Stiles heard before Thomas actually voiced it. "One. Two."

As soon as Thomas and Minho let go of the door, it instantly burst open and hell was let loose.

Stiles ran to the edge and prayed.

( _Please just let them be able to cross with us, let us be able to do the Big Step, I don't want to fall and die, I don't want anyone to fall and die, please)_

He didn't want anyone to end up like Winston. Bleeding out, throat ripped out, left behind.

He jumped.

And he passed out.

~Ξ~

A second?

Flashes of light. Roaring of cars. Maybe they were being caught by WICKED, maybe it was something else; either way, he couldn't think properly.

Gasps. Shoutings. He didn't feel anything, he felt like he was at two places at once, lying on a cold ground then standing upright at the same time, but all he saw are lights and his brain shut off.

~Ξ~

An hour?

Flash of light. He's blinded by it and he thought he was lying on a cold and hard table.

Water splashed on his face. He wanted to lick it. He was too weak to do so. His throat was still dry.

Whispers. Worried whispers. He couldn't figure out what they were saying. Everything was muted but something rang in his ears _ding ding ding_ he heard the frenetic beatings of his heart, he saw the veil before his eyes, he felt the air, so cold, so piercing, he thought he could never be warm again.

~Ξ~

A day, maybe a year?

He only knew he missed being warm.

He was so fucking cold-

~Ξ~

Centuries, perhaps.

 _ding ding_

 _ding_

* * *

 _AN: I'm sorry. I needed this to happen in the story. Please don't kill me. Love ya! ^^'_


	12. Chapter 12

_Hello newbies and oldies! I'm back, I get the back, and I'm here to kick asses._

 _I obviously apologize for the long wait, but I had some trouble again, so to thank you for your patience, I wrote an extra-large-17-pages-OpenOffice-long chapter for you. With more feels and angst. Yas. You can hate me, it's okay._

 _I also apologize for the mistakes. I tried my best, but it's still not perfect. Fuck, sometimes I think that writing in French would so much easier and it would, but then I wouldn't be able to reach out to you like I do now. I am satisfied with the beginning of the chapter but I was in a rush to finish it, so sorry if the end's a bit messy._

 _Some of you probably already noticed, but the fanfiction has got a new cover, made by nikkibala! You can find it on tumblr, but I can't give you the link, the site won't allow it._

 _TheHunterofFandoms:_ _gosh your review made me choke on my tongue! It perfectly describes the situation, thank you xD_

 _Bteam:_ _Aha! I can't tell you that, that would be cheating._

 _ThatYoutuber01_ _: Yes, WTF is the exact word for this fic! If you could describe it in one acronym, that would be WTF._

 _fadingshadowss:_ _Oh, the beepings weren't meant to be scary, but I'm glad you felt it this way because I played with your emotions toward the 'ding's on this chap x)_

 _nikkibala : I get the feeling, bro. I'm upset with my own cliffhangers too. I hope you'll like this chapter too!_

 _Rawr: Well, I wouldn't get why you'd write Thomas and Stiles as the same character, they're completely different... I'm only playing with their body resemblance, but what goes on inside their heads is obviously totally different. Stiles is spastic and has ADHD even if he's calmed down a little bit after the Nogitsune, and Thomas is a ball of protectiveness and adrenaline. Stiles is the human and Thomas is the hero. Stiles makes the jokes and Thomas shoots the gun. But sometimes, Stiles knows how to shoot too (as seen in the previous chapter), and I like how he can go from 'hey bro, d'you lift?' from 'if your skin brush against his skin I'm going to shove my bat through your butthole'. Thomas is always serious and just doesn't know how to relax. I like it too ^^_

 _Kylee1104: Hey, guess who's back? Back again! Eya's back! Tell yo friends. And I'm not really into special cookies, I love chocolate like anybody's neighbor ;)_

* * *

 ** _TRIGGER WARNING: explicit violent scenes. Not to spoil you or anything, but what happens toward the beginning kinda happened to me too, so I know what I'm talking about when it comes to shock._**

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

 _ding_

 _ding_

For one second he thought that odd ringing had stopped. He didn't know if he was glad it was still there or if he wanted it to die.

Both.

 _ding_

It was like this beeping was his anchor to reality. Whatever reality was right now. For him, reality was constant darkness and deep silence. Void. The ringing disrupted the dead harmony. This level of the Hells was the Tartarus. Why he was held captive in this cell, he had no idea. His liver wasn't being eaten by a vulture every day, he didn't have to lift an enormous rock up a mountain to see it roll down every day, he didn't stand between a clear river and trees with juicy fruits without being able to drink or eat every day. No, his hell was darkness and silence. His hell was quiet and lonely. His hell was sad. Broken by this stupidly annoying beeping every second.

He had never imagined hell like that. Since Allison died, he had always thought he would have ended up in a violent hell, where monsters with red eyes and slashing claws would have ripped everyone he loved to shreds. Not himself, no, the worst for him was to see _them_ killed in front of him.

His dad. Scott. Lydia. Then Kira, Derek, Isaac, even if he would have never admitted it for these last two.

Hell wasn't supposed to be so _easy_.

 _ding ding_

Oh. Change. The noises were getting closer now. They were low, dull, quick. Steadily increasing.

 _ding ding_

And they terrified him. He just wanted them to leave. He wanted to be left alone. A dimension away from the beeping. Steadily increasing.

 _ding ding ding_

"LEAVE ME ALONE"

But he didn't make a sound. It was like he couldn't move a limb, he was mute and deaf and asleep – was he dreaming? - but he could still hear those horrifying noises. Steadily increasing.

He wanted to make them stop.

If he concentrated, maybe they would go away? Leave him with the void within his hell?

" **Stiles**."

Now the beeping changed. It turned into a voice.

No, it actually didn't. It was still there, but there was a voice with it now.

" **Stiles**."

Whispers of his name. Steadily increasing.

He was terrified.

"Get out of my head." he murmured.

But nothing came out of his mouth.

" **I** **can't**." the voice replied, so similar to his.

Maybe it was just a dream. If he could just wake up this nightmare would also end. Or perhaps he was still in his little not-so-quite-quiet private hell.

Shame he couldn't see his fingers.

" **Stiles** -"

"Please... don't. Please shut up."

" **Listen to me, you're not dreaming.** "

"Shut- wait, what do-"

" **I'm as lost as you, I swear. And I'm pretty sure that we're not dreaming.** "

Stiles flinched. Well he would have flinched if he could.

"We?" he repeated. "Who are you supposed to be?"

" **It's me – Thomas.** "

Stiles bit his fist. Well he would have bitten it if he could.

" **What's that noise?** " he heard his twin breathe heavily.

But did he breathe really? Or was it just his imagination? Was it all just a twisted dream? He was familiar with nightmares. They kept no secrets from him. Well in his previous nightmares, the ones he had after his mother died and the ones he had during his possession, he could always see. Here he was hopeless, blind and senseless. He had no body, he was just a spirit floating in the emptiness of nothing. He was thoughts and questions. He was no answers.

Was Thomas the answer or was he just part of the questions?

He could feel a headache coming. Strange. He didn't own a head at the moment.

"I don't know." he finally replied, maybe a little too angrily. "All I know is that it's seriously beginning to piss me off."

Weird for a question to avoid the answer, but he didn't know if he wanted to know. He was scared of what the beeping might be. Of what it would mean.

Why it was

steadily increasing.

" **It looks like...** " Thomas began but his voice trailed off and became part of the silence.

"Like what?"

" **I'm not sure. I don't – nevermind.** "

Stiles rolled his eyes. Well he would have rolled them if he could.

"Just say it, it can't be nastier than Peter Hale's furry ass."

The beeping was still there. Oddly, it didn't mask Thomas' voice. It was growing louder, stronger, meaner – but it didn't stop them from 'talking' to each other.

Stiles had forgotten that Thomas had lived the third of his life in a laboratory.

" **It looks like a heart monitor.** " Thomas replied in a whisper.

It grew louder – louder – louder and

(louder)

white suddenly exploded around Stiles as he was brutally taken back to his body and he opened his eyes

(louder)

air filled his lungs and, overwhelmed, he raised a hand to his eyes to stop the flow of light

(louder)

but a faint pain went through his hand, and he tried to remove whatever was entering the back of his hand but quickly found out he didn't have the strength to do it,

(red on his hand)

panted, then finally the recognition of the situation hit him.

"Stiles, are you alright?"

The doctor was shining a bright light into his eye and Stiles squinted and blinked furiously, tears leaking from his eyes. Noticing his lack of comfort, Deaton turned the light off, then pressed a hand against the teen's forehead.

"A little hot. Don't make any sudden movement, your body is still into shock." he deducted.

Stiles didn't feel hot. He was freezing. He was so goddamn cold he wondered if he had been sleeping in the bath tub Lydia sank him in a few months ago, and not in a warm bed. He couldn't make his eyes stop crying and he didn't understand why, but that was probably the shock as Deaton mentioned.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, and the face of his best friend above the vet's shoulder made him forget his words. He stopped, eyes open wide so that he could stare at this face like it was the sun and with a cry, he took Scott in a powerful hug.

His best friend didn't wait for any explanation and hugged him back, patting his back, and Stiles cried, face buried in the broad shoulder, he cried. Relieved because his best friend was there, because he could touch him, because he went through hell and back and that this earth looked like heaven to him.

He had his eyes shut tight as he didn't want any tear to fall and when he opened them he instantly regretted doing so, but that feeling was quickly repressed by a choked gasp leaving his throat at the view of his father.

The Sheriff of Beacon Hills couldn't help but smile, eyes watering, when his only son pulled out of his friend's embrace. Stiles tried to move forward to reach for his dad but the machines' cables linked to him forced him to stay on his bed, so his father was the first to go in for the biggest hug Stiles ever had.

"It's okay, Stiles." his dad whispered, his voice making the kid's trembling body cry even more. "It's okay, you're with me. You can let go now. It's okay."

The familiar smell of home made him think that it was finally all over and he knew that he won't ever let go of his dad.

They had to pull back after a few minutes though, and Stiles wiped his nose with his left sleeve, because a needle was stinging into the back of his right hand. He felt the urge to remove it, but after a second thought, it was there of a reason.

Wait a second.

A blue sleeve.

He wasn't in WICKED's clothes and he finally noticed the annoying beeping coming from the heart monitor linked to the cables on his chest, underneath the shirt. He was in his pajamas. Comfortable but odd. He hoped no one but his father had to remove his previous clothes and see his naked form.

"I'm okay." he said to Deaton who nodded with a fond smile.

"Your cheeks are getting red again." he replied, and Stiles awkwardly wiped his chin and cheeks from the flow of tears. "I can see that you will be."

He felt his dad and Scott's eyes on him, studying him, maybe wondering when he will break down again, so he straightened his spine and tried to look as fine as he could.

"What happened?" he asked unsurely, his voice breaking at the end so he had to repeat the sentence. "Why the hell do I need a heart monitor?"

Scott pressed his lips together and blinked at the ground for a solid five seconds, and his dad looked like his wife had died all over again.

"We nearly lost you, Stiles." Deaton said with the smooth tone he used when he had to tell to an owner that his pet might not survive. "You were clinically dead for a little more than a minute."

The first thing that went through Stiles' head was the word _fuck_. The other was a sentence. 'What if I had stayed dead?'

"Why?" he asked instead as his dad laid a soothing hand on his shoulder.

Deaton shook his head, apparently unsure as to what answer. "I don't have a scientific explanation for this and I've never heard about this in the supernatural world, so my guess is something else entirely. Something beyond my comprehension." The vet sat down next to Stiles and took one of his hands. "When you went through... the portal?" Stiles nodded, so the doc went on talking. "You were connected to Thomas, right?"

"Yes."

"Both physically and mentally."

"Yes. Well, more mentally than physically, I wasn't touching him..."

"Did you let go of him after you arrived in our dimension?"

Stiles kept his mouth shut, unable to answer. "I... don't remember. I only remember... Everyone was yelling, I heard cars, and- someone... splashed water on me?" He closed his eyes, trying to bring those memories back to him by force. All he got was blur.

"The water was Teresa." Scott sighed. "She tried to wake you up. That didn't really work out."

"Hold on, I need to- to understand what happened. Tell me, exactly, what happened."

Deaton nodded again, and laid a hand on his assistant's shoulder. "I will see if Thomas is awake." He silently left the room.

Stiles stared at the door shutting behind him then looked back at his father and his best friend. "Thomas is here too?"

"He got through the same things as you." Scott answered.

"Is he okay?"

"I think so..."

"I need to see him."

"Stiles, you need to rest." the Sheriff said as his son tried to lay a foot on the ground.

"I'm fine."

His shaky leg told him otherwise.

"Stiles, I had to watch my son covered in blood as his heart stopped beating, I had to watch Melissa bringing him back to life, I had to accept the possibility of you joining your mother, so keep your ass on that bed and don't try to lower your father's body into its grave with yours ahead than schedule."

His dad never talked about Claudia, and Stiles had never wanted to bring her up. It was like a taboo subject between them. And every time that taboo was broken, Stiles could feel his heart shatter with it. He knew he was a shitty son, and his father's words kept reminding him this fact. So to be a better son, he kept his ass on that bed and tried not to murder his remaining parent with worry. "I'm sorry." he murmured.

The Sheriff's tensed shoulders relaxed and he patted his son's hair. "No, I'm the one that should be sorry."

Stiles looked up at him. "Why?"

"I should've known what was about to happen. You left me a note, for god's sake, and I gave your – your twin a call, I should've understood, I should've done something."

"Dad, there's nothing that you could've done. Plus I didn't warn you in the note. I didn't want you worried."

"I'm worried all the time, Stiles. Nothing can change that."

Stiles tried to smile but he didn't put much heart in it. "I know." he murmured. He looked up at Scott who was looking so tired he wondered if he had slept at least once during the time Thomas and Stiles were gone. "Tell me everything now."

~Ξ~

The first face he saw when he jerked awake was Lydia's. He instantly knew it was her because of the strawberry blondish flames of her hair.

His hands squeezed the corner of the sheets on top of him and he tried to push himself up, pathetically falling. His eyes were leaking all the water in his body and he pressed his arms against his torso, uncontrollable spasms shaking his body, bringing him nothing but heat.

He felt like a panic attack was creeping up inside him, but that was weird since he wasn't familiar with panic attacks.

A hand, a warm hand, contrasting with the freezing cold of his skin, was laid on his right wrist, pressing against the blue veins, feeling his pulse. It moved up to his face, swept away the tears rolling down his chin.

"It's okay." he heard her say. "Don't try to resist, alright? It's just a side effect of coming back to life."

"W-what?" he gasped, hoping his ears malfunctioned.

A wet hot towel moistened his face, and he tried to make his body stop shaking in front of the heat repulsing the cold away.

"Quiet. I think you're going into shock. Try to stay still."

That's when Thomas decided that he would never try the Big Step ever again.

He tried to lay unmoving but it was harder than he first thought.

"L-lydia-" he started saying, but she cut him off.

"What did I just tell you?" Her voice then smoothed and she stuck the wet towel once again against his forehead. "I'm going to warn the others, they're going to be happy to see you awake. Try to calm down, okay?"

"Wait-" he said as his arm stretched out to grab her wrist. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"You h-helped me s-save Stiles."

She gently moved her hand away from his grip to sweep away the last tears on his face. "Don't thank me. Thank your friend who found all the products to wake him up. And thank yourself for getting everyone out of the crap." She put the towel next to his head and got up from the bed. "I'm going to warn-"

She didn't have the time to finish her sentence as the door cracked open. The Druid Deaton immediatly rushed to Thomas' side. The heart monitor stopped beeping as soon as he pulled on the stripes, unsticking them from Thomas' chest.

"It seems like you woke up at the same time as Stiles did." the vet said, shining a light in Thomas' eye. He blinked, temporarily blinded, and pushed the man away. Deaton didn't seem offensed by his distrust.

"He's awake?" the kid asked.

"And he seems to be just fine, yes. Now about you. How do you feel?"

Thomas looked down at him, studied his new clothes that were at his perfect size: grey sweatpants and black short-sleeved shirt. He briefly wondered how he got in them, but he had other things to worry about. "I'm good." he simply said. He sat up straight, back against the headboard of the bed.

Lydia rolled her eyes but he didn't really pay attention to it, instead focused on the color of her hair. "How are you still alive?" he asked almost absent-mindedly.

She stared at him. "I tend to be an expert at keeping myself out of trouble. That's why I can say you're a newbie."

Thomas huffed. "Yeah, people love to call me that. But how-"

"Thomas." Deaton called out to him. "I need to know if you are in physical pain."

"Huh – no."

"Are you experiencing a headache?"

"No."

"Do you have vertigo, do you feel sick, like you're drunk?"

"No, neither of these."

"Good."

"Why are you asking me this? What happened?"

He saw Lydia glancing at Deaton who chose to speak up. "You had a heart failure. You can thank Melissa McCall for saving you. Actually, both of you."

Thomas' throat went dry and he felt his heart bolt. "Stiles too?"

Deaton nodded. "At the exact same time. I just saw him, and he says you were mentally connected during your travel between your world and ours."

"Yeah, we were. But what does that have to do with our heart attack?"

"Maybe you went too far." Lydia said, her arms crossed under her chest. "Maybe you crossed the one line that you shouldn't have crossed."

Thomas closed his eyes tightly, suddenly uncomfortable. "I could hear Stiles' thoughts." he murmured. "And he could hear mine. And when we were both unconscious, we could somehow talk to each other."

"Can you now?"

His eyes still shut and his eyebrows creased, Thomas searched in the mess of his thoughts, seeking for Stiles' voice. He came back with nothing. Shook his head.

"That's a good sign, as this means the heart problem is averted."

Thomas was glad for it, but really he just wanted the truth right now. "How could we hear each other's thoughts? How is it even possible?"

"Even in the supernatural world this gift is extremely rare, but you and Stiles are not supernatural."

"How did you find us?"

"I did." Lydia said. "Apparently I'm a radar for dead bodies and dimension-travelers teenage boys."

"Where are we?"

"In Scott's house, Deaton and Melissa temporarily misappropriated equipment for you in the hospital-"

"Where are Newt, and Teresa, Minho-?"

"Downstairs, they're just fine-"

"I don't understand how you could b-"

"Oh my god, just shut up!" Lydia snapped, looking like she was going to tear her hair off her head. "At least let me explain to you what happened, don't interrupt or I swear I'll shove the medical equipment down your throat."

Thomas thought that closing his mouth would effectively extend his lifespan.

~Ξ~

 _They don't instantly freak out when Lydia's eyes open wide as she turns around and walks away. They weren't really paying attention to her. They weren't to blame. Scott still has his phone in his palm, ready to call Stiles, ready to be called by Stiles. They are all waiting expectently, not knowing what to do. They try not to panic. It's hard, because they know something critical is going on. It's hard, because they know they can't do anything. It's hard, because one of their best friend, one of the people who's there since the beginning, may die. It's hard, because they're already preparing themselves to bury an empty coffin._

 _The Sheriff cannot stop his hands from shaking. He's already spilt three cups of coffee, apologizing a hundred times for the stain that won't go off of Melissa's carpet, but the nurse makes him sit down and takes his hands between his, her thumbs soothing his calloused hands._

 _Derek waits on a small part of the couch, head between his hands. His body's tensed. He's ready to leap off and run to save this annoying little shit that's an intense pain in his ass. Besides him, Isaac, doing the very same. Kira murmurs some comforting words to Scott's ears and the Alpha doesn't seem to know what to believe._

 _It looks like a bad remake of Allison's death. Maybe that's what awaits them all. Constant remakes. Shoddy remakes. Until there is only one of them waiting. And then no one left to remember._

 _They don't notice Lydia's gone until they hear the door closing behind her. Even then no one moves. That is before Derek pulls his head out of his hands._

 _"Lydia left." he says._

 _"She probably went for a walk to clear her head." Melissa suggests. "He is her best friend too."_

 _"She didn't go for a walk or else she would have taken her shoes and a coat."_

 _That feared sheer panic engulfs and chokes them. No one wants to get left behind but there has to be someone guarding the house in case Deucalion's pack comes back. They elect the previous Alpha who's the best fighter they have and the boy who was once his Beta. Kira proposes to stay here too but Scott shakes his head. He can't leave someone he loves behind him if he isn't sure that person's really coming back: he's learned from his past mistakes._

 _Lydia is way faster than they think she is. They find her after four full minutes of driving around. She's running in the middle of the road. Her heavy breath lets out small clouds in the light of the street lamps. Her gaze is focused in front of her. She doesn't stop running when the Sheriff parks right next to her, she doesn't even seem to see them._

 _"Lydia!" they call._

 _She keeps on running, not even caring if her feet end up getting bruised. She is cold, they can tell. Goosebumps appear on her arms, her cheeks and nose are red, her lips shake._

 _Scott reaches out to her and stops her, and she just blankly obeys, still staring at some point through him that he can't see._

 _"Lydia, what is it? Is it another body?" he asks._

 _Slowly, her gaze trails up to his face, but she doesn't seem to recognize him._

 _"Get back – the crack's – the crack's crying."_

 _None of it makes sense but again this wasn't really Lydia speaking, she's in an hypnosis-like state._

 _"They are coming back, aren't they?" Kira whispers optimistically._

 _"Get her in the car." the Sheriff orders, and they obey without thinking twice._

 _"Forward." they hear her murmur as Mr Stilinski hits the gas._

 _The level of tension in the car is at its peak. No one talks. Everyone's tensed. Kira covers Lydia's shoulders with her jacket. Scott sends a message to Derek, warning him that Stiles might be back._

 _k. kick him for me – Derek_

 _for me too ;) - Isaac_

 _That little smiley somehow comforts him._

 _Everything is going to be okay. They are going to find him. They are going to find him alive and that's all that matters._

 _They are long gone out of Beacon Hills when Lydia murmurs a simple "there"._

 _The Sheriff drives through the parking lot of the mall, high-beams lighting the way, until he brutally hits the brake. He gets out of the car with a cry, doesn't even bother to close the door, Melissa running behind him._

 _The kids are all gathered there, panting in the cold night, covered in scratches, bruises. They smell awful. They smell like fear. A girl holds an unconscious boy's head on her knees. An Asian teen hits the boy's chest with one fist with all the strength he has, but that's not to them that the Sheriff runs. He pushes a blonde boy out of the way, leans over his son. Two of his fingers press against the pulse at the neck. Feel nothing but death._

 _He turns toward Melissa who's standing behind him, and his eyes threaten to spill the tears that should've fallen many years ago. She knows what to do without an explanation._

 _"How long?!" she shouts at the kids surrounding them._

 _"What?" someone says._

 _"HOW LONG SINCE THE HEART STOPPED BEATING?!"_

 _"Just right before you arrived, one min-" a scrawny teen replied, twisting painfully his hands._

 _"Scott, do it to the other. Just like I've been teaching you how to do it, okay?" she says before she bends forward and her mouth touches Stiles'._

 _CPR, heart massage, CPR, heart massage. The mother and the son don't stop even for a second._

 _Lydia doesn't scream. She just stands there, her mouth gaping, a hand covering her lips, tiny sobs blocked by her palm ("oh no please don't die no no no not you no"), her other hand squeezing so tight Kira's jacket that her knuckles go white._

 _CPR, heart massage, CPR, heart massage. Brutal gulps of air, coughs, then silence._

 _Melissa takes a deep breath and pushes away a strand of her hair from her face. "He's fine." she breathes out, and the Sheriff can't help but let out a sob._

 _Scott gets off Thomas' body, nodding. "He's fine too."_

 _"Dear fucking god." one of the kids says, probably the Asian one. All the other kids seem to be into shock, like traumatized._

 _The girl swipes Thomas' filthy hair from his forehead, murmuring things no one can hear, rocking his body._

 _"Can't we take them to a hospital?" Kira asks, her voice still shaky._

 _"If we go to the hospital, we won't be able to avoid the questions, and we won't be able to say why the Sheriff suddenly has two sons."_

 _"Yeah, that's a good point..." the kitsune mutters awkwardly._

 _"We won't fit in my car." the Sheriff says, Stiles' still body in his arms._

 _"I'm calling Derek." Scott says, doing so._

 _"Who the bloody hell are you people?" they hear, so they turn around._

 _The blonde kid stands between them and Thomas, his hands closed into fists ready to strike._

 _"We're friends." Scott assures, handing the phone to Kira who takes it, takes a few steps back and starts talking quickly to the last Hale. "Thomas has met us before actually, he probably told you about us."_

 _"Hell yes he did." a dark-skinned teenager says, maybe a little too loud. He notices all the looks on him, so he just waves at Lydia. "Hey."_

 _She blinks at him and doesn't answer._

 _"You're Scott." the Asian figures it out as he stands next to the British one. "The Alpha werewolf. Thomas likes you."_

 _Scott takes this as an encouragement. "Yeah, I'm the Alpha. You can believe me."_

 _"That's exactly what Janson said before he started abducting my friends and killing them slowly." the scrawny kid mutters under his breath._

 _"They helped Thomas, Aris." the girl replies as she looks up from her friend's face. "If he trusts them, I trust them too."_

 _Scott thankfully nods at her._

 _They manage to squeeze into Mr Stilinski's car and the black Camaro. Seven inside the sheriff car, seven in Derek's. If the beta with the blue eyes isn't happy to have seventeen-year-olds covered in blood and dirt on his backseat, he doesn't say voice it._

 _Everything's going on quite well until they stop in front of the animal clinic. Deaton welcomes them, both arms raised above his head, and all hell breaks loose._

~Ξ~

One step. Two steps. He had trouble going down these stupid stairs, and he couldn't be more annoyed. He used to be a runner, dammit! Lydia led him the way, preventing his fall, and Deaton was right behind him, making sure he kept his spine straight. He felt disabled. He hated that feeling. He was scared of that feeling. The doctor had told him that he would be fine after a few days, but Thomas had never been the waiting type. After what seemed like a lifetime, he was finally on the first floor of the McCall house. He noticed it was built the same way as the Stilinski's. To the left, the kitchen. To the right, the living-room. On the couches, all of his friends, a brown-headed woman talking to a blonde teen and wrapping a bandage around his right arm.

Inside Thomas, an explosion of relief.

'They're all okay' he thought before limping toward them.

Teresa was the first to notice him and her face lit up as she got up to her feet, taking him in her arms. He heard her tiny 'oh my god Tom' before she rested her face on his chest, and he engulfed her body with his arms too, his nose buried in the delicate flowery smell of her dark hair.

He had the time to notice that this was the cleanest he had ever seen her before Minho, Newt, Aris and Frypan harassed him with happy and questioning yells and hugs. Winston was nowhere to be found. Teresa let him go after a time that, on the contrary of going down the stairs, seemed too short.

"Don't do this ever again." was the first thing that came out of her mouth. "How are you?" was the second one.

"How do you think he is? He literally just came back from the dead!" Minho shouted, taking Thomas in a short hug. "How was it, man? Was there a light? Can you see ghosts now?"

"Won't you shut up for a second, Minho?" Newt said irritably, but Thomas knew that was just a mask. "Give him some air."

"Oh come on, it's not like you can have a heart attack a dozen times in your life, that's a one-time experience at that age." Minho replied.

Newt ignored him. "Don't pay attention to him, he's been like that since we've been given proper food."

"Proper food?" Frypan shouted, offended.

"Your bacon was great, Fry."

"That's what I like to hear!"

"I'm fine." Thomas finally said, slightly overwhemled by his friends. He had missed their banter.

Aris smiled to him and he smiled back for the first time in days.

Minho forced him to sit on one of the couches. "How the fuck did you do that."

Thomas looked over at Aris, who just shrugged. That meant he was on his own.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Remember when I said I used to work for WCKD?" They nodded, he went on. "During that time, they tried an experiment on me. They... I don't know how they did it, but they modified some parts of my brain so that I could be connected to an other me – Stiles – in an other dimension. Of course that included the power to travel between dimensions."

"I feel like I'm in a book." Minho said, shocked. "The Asimov kind."

"There ain't cybermen here, man." Frypan replied.

"Not yet."

"What was WCKD's goal? There must have been one, right?" Newt asked.

"Yeah, and it wasn't really glamorous." Thomas said. "Basically they planned to take over the other dimension because ours was screwed."

"Well that's – that's good!" Teresa said, but Thomas proved her wrong.

"No that's not, Teresa, because they would have killed billions to live there."

She instantly paled. Thomas became suddenly aware of the growls of his starving stomach.

"How long have we stayed unconscious?" he asked.

It wasn't his friends that answered, but the woman, the one that was changing Newt's bandage earlier. What stroke him were her gentle features but her firm hand. The look she gave him was the one of a strong-willed mother.

"Two days since your heart attack."

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. Nodded. "Okay." he softly whispered, and he cleared his throat. "Okay." he repeated. He didn't really know what to say next, so he just held out a hand toward her. "I'm Thomas."

She took it and shook it with a fond smile. "Melissa McCall. I'm the owner of this house. You've already met my son, Scott. He's upstairs with Stiles."

"Yeah, I've met him. Wait, you know about-"

"Everything." she assured him. "There are no secrets here, you don't have to worry." She eyed his body up and down critically. "You, kid, could definitely use some food."

Thomas' stomach seemed relieved by this statement.

When the smell of roasted chicken came to his nose, he couldn't help but salivate.

Melissa was a better cook than WICKED. He decided that he really liked this woman. And once again, he wondered what he had done to the world to be born in a shitty dimension where everyone around him ended up dead if he could have lived like Stiles with loving parents and friends.

"What happened to your arm?" he asked to Newt while bringing the glass of water to his lips.

The British looked up at him and put a +2 Uno card on the table. In front of him, Frypan groaned and picked up two cards.

"A klunk slashed it." he replied casually as he slided over Frypan a skip card. The cook raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really, man?"

"Hey, apparently it's the rules." Newt replied, smirking. "Can't do nothing about that."

"When?" Thomas asked, interrupting the game. "It wasn't here two days ago."

The blonde put a red card on the table and Frypan sighed with relief, then threw him a wild draw four card. Newt shot him a death glare, then turned toward Thomas.

"Let's say that this world isn't less dangerous than ours."

~Ξ~

 _Derek gets out of his car, places himself in front of everyone and lets out a petrifying howl. Scott, Isaac and Kira join him. She takes her sword out of her belt, the blade shining in the light of the street lamps._

 _"I told you to not come back again."_

 _Deucalion smiled, his claws nearly piercing the back of the neck of the vet. "You also said that I wouldn't see you coming, but look how this turned out: it's the other way around."_

 _"What do you want?" Scott growls, his eyes glowing red in prepare for battle._

 _In the sheriff's car, Melissa turns toward Lydia, Frypan and Aris. And Stiles' unconscious body, but speaking to him won't matter because he can't hear a thing. "Stay in the car and don't try anything." she whispers._

 _"Wait- what's going on?" Aris says at the same tone._

 _"It's too long to explain, just do as I say and no one'll get hurt, okay? Just trust us."_

 _They stare at her but stay in the car. They weren't going to leave Stiles behind after all. The Sheriff takes his service weapon and opens the door, hiding behind it._

 _"We beat you a few months back, we beat you two days ago, we'll do it again today. The Nogitsune's dead, Deucalion." Derek roars as his face slowly shifts. "You don't have anything to do here."_

 _"I know he is now." the Alpha of the Alphas replies back. "I admit I was a little blind. But I thank you for giving my sight back."_

 _"Then leave!"_

 _"I won't. I know what's going on."_

 _"You don't."_

 _"I know enough. I know your human Stiles isn't as normal as he thinks he is. I've been fooled before by his twin, and I've seen how powerful they both are together."_

 _"You're not taking them." Scott growls._

 _"I admit they would be really useful in my pack, but I don't plan on taking_ them _."_

 _These words have barely left his mouth that his pack come out of the shadows. Yellow and blue eyes surround them. The kids in the car cover their mouths in shock. Newt chokes back a curse._

 _"There is always a way to take one's power." Deucalion points out before his betas leap forward._

 _They're doomed, that's what the Gladers think. They were just escaping the Cranks, and now they are thrown in a battle of werewolves. This day keeps getting better and better._

 _Deucalion doesn't fight. His fist keeps choking Deaton, his claws ready to slash his throat in case Scott won._

 _Scott is outnumbered. At this point, it's two against one. Derek fights two young Betas, Isaac and Kira both have their own enemy, Scott's howling against two. He's a young Alpha. He's a werewolf since last year. He does know how to fight but he's not like Derek. He knows there's no way they can possibly win this._

 _He knows it because a tail slashes the back of his neck and sends him flying to the ground. He knows it because he can't move anymore._

 _"They have a kanima!" he yells before someone grabs him by his collar, gets him to his feet and punches hard his stomach. He can't even bend over. He only feels pain._

 _Gunshots. The Sheriff aims at the opponents, almost never misses, but his bullets aren't filled with wolfsbane and it's not very productive._

 _Minho doesn't think twice after he sees Scott fall. Newt tries to hold him back but he's too fast and tumbles out of the car, and with a yell of fury, he darts toward the beta who's beating the crap out of Scott. His shoulder collides with the wolf's chest with enough strength to break some ribs. The runner swiftly puts his body between Scott's paralysed one, his face twisted in anger._

 _"You're gonna have to go through me to get him!"_

 _"Shit-" Newt mutters before getting out of the car. His right momentarily stuns the kanima who was about to slash its tail on Minho. A beta takes him from behind, its clawy hand paralysing his arm by squeezing it so hard blood starts dripping, and Newt lets out a scream._

 _Isaac's suddenly there. He spins around, sends a blow to the one assaulting Newt and rips a large chunk of flesh from his torso, stands between his Alpha and the monsters._

 _"Where's yours gone?" Minho pants._

 _"KO." Isaac replies, pointing his previous opponent who's whining on the ground._

 _"Great, we might make it out alive."_

~Ξ~

Melissa brought him a plate of food and Stiles immediatly stuffed it down.

"God, it feels like it's been days since I ate." he sighed. "But seriously, I'm fine. I'm just starving, but besides that, I'm okay. I'm not gonna do a relapse."

"As I'm your father, I'm never going to let you leave your room ever again." the Sheriff said with an amused voice.

"This is Scott's room, pops."

"Do not try to confuse me, son."

"I-"

"Eat."

Stiles hated losing but this time he gave up and tried to take in his mouth as much food as he could. "Can't I at least say hi?" he asked even if his mouth was full.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

The Sheriff let out a long sigh and ran a hand over his tired features. "You're gonna be the death of me."

Stiles couldn't answer, his mouth was about to explode. They let him finish his plate quietly.

"So what happened after you got paralysed?" he asked to Scott.

Scott stopped spinning on his desk chair. "Huh, a lot of stuff."

"Describe 'a lot of stuff'."

"We took you and Thomas to the animal clinic by the back door and locked ourselves up." Lydia said rather matter of factly. "And then... we found out why you can't go downstairs and say hi to the others right now."

Stiles nearly choked on his glass of water. "Sorry, what?"

Lydia bit her lower lip. "It was really one of the worst days of our life."

~Ξ~

 _Aris locks the door behind them. "They won't be able to follow us?"_

 _"No, the walls contain mountain ash." Lydia quickly replies as she indicates them to put the twins on the two operation tables. The only word they understand is 'no', which is enough._

 _Frypan lays Thomas on the right table, making sure not to bang his head, and Melissa and Newt do the same for Stiles, placing him on the table on the left, less than a meter away from its twin._

 _"Okay, what do we do now?" Minho asks, leaning against a wall to catch his breath._

 _"Now we pray for them to get back to us alive." Melissa answers as she observes the place around her to find something they could potentionally use._

 _"No, I mean, about them?" He makes a gesture toward the sleepers._

 _Melissa vaguely shrugs. "I'm just a normal nurse, I'm not trained to deal with the supernatural and even less with what put them in that coma!"_

 _Newt stands against a sink. "Shit-" he groans, his hand covering the wound at his arm to stop the blood flow. Melissa notices his pain and immediatly rummages in the cupboards, finds the antiseptic and the bandages that she unwraps. Newt lets her do her job even though he keeps a suspicious frown on._

 _The injury was deeper than he thought and he couldn't move his shoulder without cringing with pain. Good thing that the Sheriff had shot at the kanima and the two other betas, or else he and Minho would have been ripped apart to shreds by now and couldn't have dragged Scott behind the Sheriff car and fled, the young Alpha shouting them to go._

 _"Guys."_

 _They turn toward Lydia._

 _Two of her fingers are pressed against Stiles' jugular. When she looks up, they can see horror tearing her face apart._

 _"I don't think his heart rate is normal."_

 _Alarmed, Melissa takes his pulse and confirms this fact._

 _"Someone take Thomas' pulse." she suddenly says._

 _Teresa presses her fingers against her friend's wrist. The look she gives to the nurse is enough to make anyone fear the worst._

 _"Okay – what is it this time?" Newt groans._

 _"I've never met anything like it!" Melissa replies desperately._

 _At the exact same time, Teresa finds the faucet behind the blonde, collects tap water in two glasses that she throws at the sleeper's faces._

 _"Hey, what the-" Frypan lets out, slightly sprayed._

 _"It was worth a shot!" Teresa shots back, seeing no reaction from the twins._

 _However this act has awoken an idea in Minho's mind. He raises her hand and violently slaps Thomas._

 _"Stop, it's not working!" Lydia shouts. Her fingers are still pressed against her friend's neck. "Their pulse keep fastening!"_

 _"We've gotta find a way to wake them up, don't we?!" Minho answers back, panic twisting his face._

 _"We have to find out why this is happening, and coming up with violence won't do any good!" Teresa says._

 _"Oh you aren't gonna take her side-"_

 _"Please don't-" Melissa says._

 _"Hey, Minho!" Newt yells._

 _"Did you even think about what you were trying to do?!" Lydia shouts, pointing the bodies of the two boys, a fire raging in her eyes. "What is happening is happening inside their head – it's not physical, it's not something you can suppress with a slap, or with water – and what if you just hurt Thomas even more? What if you just touched a part of his brain that is damaged and now there's no going back? What if-"_

 _"Then tell me what your big plan is, if you're so clever!" Minho roars at her, his body so tensed that the veins of his arms pop up._

 _"I'm trying to think!" Lydia shouts as she rubs her temples, eyes darting from Thomas to Stiles._

 _"Well think harder!"_

 _"I could if you weren't such a di-"_

 _"HEY!" Newt screams, and he limps to stand between the two, shooting them his best scowl. "You both shut the bloody hell up because I swear these two shanks aren't gonna be the only ones to die tonight."_

 _'They're connected." Aris whispers so softly that no one hears him but Frypan nearby._

 _Melissa takes Thomas' pulse. Closes her eyes. "Oh god."_

 _Newt then turns toward Lydia. "You're the expert at weird things!" he says and she blinks up at him, taken aback. "You're supposed to know stuff, right?"_

 _"I'm – no!" she stammers, shattered. "I really don't-"_

 _"Thomas told us you were some kind of supernatural monster, you have to know something!"_

 _"That's what I was talking about." Minho mumbles._

 _"I've been a banshee for less than a year, if you want an expert, call the veterinarian who's still outside in the clutches of a psychotic werewolf!"_

 _"Wait, what did you say?" Frypan suddenly asks, turning to Aris._

 _The kid looks up at him, his face lighting up. "They're connected." he repeats louder._

 _"I can't believe I'm surrounded by a group of bloody shuck-faced morons." Newt mutters, clenching his hand around his wounded arm._

 _"We're losing them!" Melissa cries out._

 _It's maybe even more of an hell than outside. No one hears his neighbor over the concert of panicked screams, everyone tries to shout louder than the person next to him, and meanwhile, people are dying._

 _"SLIM YOUR HOLES!" Frypan roars._

 _Frypan never roars. Frypan usually prefers to stay quiet and shoot comments from time to time. Surprised by his sudden fury, they all let silence take possession of the room._

 _"They're connected." Aris repeats, a light shining in his eyes. "I was with Thomas when he found out what WCKD had done to him – they created a link between Thomas and Stiles, maybe the Experimentation connected them not only mentally but also physically!"_

 _"What the hell are you-" Minho grumbles, not really trusting the new kid._

 _"I don't know how they opened that crack, okay?" Aris goes on, feeling inspired. "I just know they have to be connected somehow. Maybe too much connected."_

 _"Are you saying that-"_

 _"We have to disconnect them." Lydia whispers._

 _Turmoil takes over silence._

 _Lydia lifts Stiles' arm and moves it around her shoulders, Aris repeats the gesture with the other arm, Minho goes for the legs. Frypan opens the door leading to the the reception desk. The boy's head bounces comically on the way and they let him down against Deaton's desk. No response from the boy. He stays features as rigid as a dead man's._

 _The redhead quickly takes his pulse. Her face goes blank._

 _"I can't feel his pulse!" she shouts, hysteric._

 _"Maybe you're doing it wrong!" Minho suggests, panic creeping up inside him too._

 _"I know how to do it, okay?! I know how to take someone's pulse, I have my high school first aid certificate-"_

 _Her fingers move to Stiles' wrist and squeeze so hard the flesh that it leaves red marks. So she sticks her ear to his chest and listens, mouth agape, frozen in fear._

 _Five never-ending seconds fly by._

 _She lets out a sigh of relief and closes her eyes for a second more. "He's okay." she finally says like the words are new to her and she's tasting their glory._

 _Aris sighs too but Minho doesn't waste a second more._

 _"Is he okay out there?" he calls out._

 _Newt's disheveled head appears at the frame of the door. "We're okay. We're all okay." An enormous smiles stretches on his face, sign that the sun will maybe shine that day after all._

 _"Not all of us." Melissa says, breaking the mood. She gives a little smile to Lydia kneeling next to Stiles, and walks toward the entrance door of the animal clinic. She lifts up the 'OPEN/CLOSE' sign. "Deucalion is still there."_

~Ξ~

"What does that mean?" he murmured. His lips were too dry, he licked them before talking. "We can't – we have to avoid being close to each other now?"

"Yeah." Scott said. "That'd be best."

Stiles stared at his finger for a few seconds, then ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "That's just amazing." he chuckled humorlessly. "This just keeps getting better and better."

"So let me resume the situation." he goes on. "Because Thomas and I traveled between two worlds with other people, we can't stand next to each other or our hearts start beating so fast they literally stop beating. That means we can't open a new crack to go back out there without dying."

"Newt told us that where they're from isn't safe at all, so maybe the best is for them to stay in Beacon Hills?" Scott suggested.

"I don't know, man." his friend sighed. "I don't know, that doesn't seem right. I mean, they don't _belong_ here. It's not their world."

"It could always become theirs."

"I'm sure Beacon High would let them in." the Sheriff smiled. "Many people and students are leaving the town because of the weird stuff going on there. We could help them find a new home."

Stiles nodded half-heartedly. "And they would be running with wolves?"

"That's still better than being eaten by Grievers and flesh-eating humans." Lydia points out. She notices Stiles' look on her. "I've befriended Teresa and we've been telling each other our story. It was fun."

~Ξ~

"There's one thing I don't get, though." he said as he put a red card on the table. Aris put two reds and Frypan groaned and picked out a new card. "Why was our connection so deep that we could hear each other's thoughts and went into a coma?"

Newt pulled out a reverse card.

"Really, man?" Frypan said, exasperated.

"I didn't make the game!" the British replied, and the cook picked up a new card. Aris pulled out a +2 but Thomas counterattacked with another +2. "Bloody hell, shank. Did you really have to do this?"

"I didn't make the game." Thomas shot back.

Frypan snorted and high-fived him. Newt rolled his eyes and picked up four cards.

"I'm gonna crush you, you won't see it coming." he declared.

"Oi, bugger off, ya bad sport!" Frypan said, imitating Newt's accent.

The blonde smacked the cook's arm without being able to suppress a smile. "Slim it."

"Get a room." Minho said as he passed by their table.

Without looking up, Newt gave him the finger and they could hear Minho's laugh as he probably went to the bathroom.

When Aris pulled out an other reverse card and Newt took his revenge on Thomas by giving him two more cards, Thomas wondered if feeling home was like this. He couldn't help but open his mouth.

"I wish Chuck and Winston were here to see this."

Newt stared at his cards. Frypan stopped breathing.

"Sorry, I just killed the mood." Thomas murmured, shameful.

"No it's fine." Newt then said, looking up at him with a sad smile. "We all wish the same thing. All we can do is enjoy what we have now to their memory. We can't let our past sink us, Tommy."

Thomas nodded with difficulty, a lump in his throat. He remembered Stiles saying he was a buzzkill, and his twin had been right. He just didn't know how to think optimistically when all was going well in the best of worlds.

Newt pulled out a blue card. "What was your question again?" he asked while the runner put an other blue.

Thomas silently thanked him for changing the topic of the conversation.

"I was wondering how our connection became so strong it weakened us."

"Well, shank, I don't have the answer to that." Aris changed the color of the cards and Frypan made a little shriek of joy then pulled out a green. "But maybe you do." Newt concluded.

"What?"

"Maybe something changed your connection. I don't have your memories, but you do, so maybe dig a little into your adrenaline-filled brain and you'll find it out." he explained while pulling out skip on Thomas.

Aris used a +2 on Frypan.

Thomas rubbed his temples, frowning. "The only thing I can come up with is Kira's foxfire, but she used it on Stiles, not me."

Frypan retaliated with three angry blue cards and Newt picked up a new card as he was lacking of blue ones. "Well you said you were already connected to come up with." he said. "So what injures Stiles injures you, right?"

"Yeah." Thomas let out, in deep concentration. He pulled out a reverse card. "Yeah, that could actually be it! She shocked Stiles, shocking me, and that triggered the part of me WICKED modified, that amplified it-"

"I don't get a single thing." Frypan said, both of his eyebrows so high they almost disappeared behind his short hair.

Newt patted his shoulder. "That's a suitable reaction, Fry. Very suitable reaction."

~Ξ~

 _"So you want them. You want their power!" Scott spits out. The shoe pressing on his torso makes it hard to breath. "How do you think you can steal it from them? They aren't supernatural!"_

 _Deucalion crouches next to the little Alpha. "One thing after the other, Scott."_

 _"That's just a way to say you don't know anything!" Kira yells, her arms twisted behind her back, her sword picked up by a Beta who threatens her with it. Deucalion's attention moves from the werewolf to the kitsune._

 _"No-" Scott groans. His eyes dart from Isaac who's face against the ground, apparently unable to move just like him, Derek, a fist choking his neck, and the Sheriff, fangs ready to pierce the skin above his heart._

 _"Kira Yukimura. The thunder kitsune. You're prettier with a gag."_

 _"Hey, DON'T TOUCH HER!" Scott shouts, trying to free himself from the foot and the poison in his veins._

 _Deucalion ignores him but a smile stretches his lips. His claw grazes Kira's cheek. She faces the stinging pain with bravery. "Is she your new girlfriend, Scott?" he asks with an honeyed voice. "A french hunter and now a japanese fox. You like exoticism."_

 _Kira struggles to keep her head high._

 _"You will never have their power!" Derek calls out._

 _Scott closes his eyes for a second, relieved for the distraction. If Kira cannot heal, Derek can, and he's harder to kill. Deucalion simply looks at the ex-Alpha though._

 _"The animal clinic countains mountain ash in its walls." Derek continues, ignoring the fist around his throat that makes him chokes on air as he talks. "You'll never be able to go inside."_

 _"Not unless they invite me in."_

 _"You've already lost, Deucalion!"_

 _"Oh, my ideas can be stimulating."_

 _And so then he turns his back on everyone but Deaton, defenseless, raises his hand and slashes the vet's throat._

 _Rectification:_ almost _slashes the vet's throat._

 _A blurry form crashes into him with full force and sends Deucalion to the ground._

 _"That's for trying to kill friends, dickhead." Minho spits at his face._

 _The Alpha roars with rage and stands up in a fluid motion, ready to strike back, but Minho has already helped Deaton to stand up and pushes him away from the fight._

 _Deucalion's betas roar with anger but Newt's already there, picks up Kira's sword from the ground, dive forward and slashes the blade on the creature's face, making it squeal with pain. It releases Kira, Newt throws her sword back to her, she swirls it around a tiny second to sink it to the guard into the stomach of the bastard that held her down._

 _Number of opponents left: six plus Deucalion._

 _She blocks a clawed hand that was going to gut her, violently kicks the enemy, and with a cry of rage, nearly decapitates him. The head'll grow back anyway._

 _"You don't know who you're fighting against, boy." Deucalion groans, ready to launch himself at Minho for the offense committed._

 _"There're girls here too!"_

 _Teresa, surgical saw in hand, strikes with all her strength at the Alpha's head. She wants the greedy blade to dig into the monster's skull, push through the bone and thrust into the squishy mass of the brain – the werewolf is too fast for her and he catches the saw with his bare hand, squeezing so tight the sharp edge that red blood spills like a stream down the wrist._

 _Teresa is smart enough to know that a punch is coming for her and she drops to the ground, the Alpha's other hand nearly grasping her black hair. Deucalion lets the surgical saw fall to the ground and wipes the blood away from his palm on his shirt like it's nothing._

 _"I admit you would be both interesting fighters as werewolves."_

 _"Drop it, Deucalion! It's over."_

 _Scott, standing on his two feet, faces the Alpha of the Alphas. His red eyes glow with anger and victory._

 _Almost all of the betas were knocked out swiftly. Kira had put KO two of them with only her sword, freeing Derek who had headbutted the one that strangled him with so much strength its nose had exploded. The Sheriff, seeing the werewolves with the Gladers's help taking their revenge, had found the will to shoot his last bullet right between the brows of the Beta that was supposed to claw his heart out of his chest; and Isaac, still paralyzed, had done nothing but growl at his opponent while Frypan and Aris took care of him with crowbars found behind the animal clinic._

 _Safe inside the building, Lydia and Melissa let out a sigh of relief._

 _Scott silently thanks Newt with a nod for throwing a scalpel at him with a perfect aim, activating the healing process and helping him getting rid of the beta on him. The only ones left standing were the kanima, waiting for its master's orders, and Deucalion._

 _Deucalion stood pridely in front of the little Alpha, smiling at the display of the red eyes._

 _"You're going to tell your pack to leave." Scott growls fiercely. "And you're not going to be back, ever."_

 _"Scott." Derek calls out. "We can't let him go. Not again."_

 _Scott considers his words. But the truth is, he doesn't think he's capable of killing someone, even if that someone is Deucalion._

 _"My ideas can be stimulating." he slowly says._

 _It lasts for only a second. When it's over, Deucalion is screaming at the top of his lungs, both of his hands pressed against his eyes, blood trailing down his face. He falls on his knees and keeps screaming, and Scott just stares down at him._

 _"If you try to lay a hand on someone I love again, your eyes will not be the only thing I'll burst."_

~Ξ~

"You're terrifying, dude."

Scott chuckled humorlessly. "I had to give him a message."

"And since you couldn't kill him, so you just enucleated him."

"I didn't... enucleate him!"

"No, you're right, you just pushed your claws through his eyeballs."

Scott winced. "When you say it like that, it sounds really disgusting."

"But that's what you did, Scott!" Stiles said, shocked. "You literally burst his eyes! That's unethical-"

"Since when do you care about morals?" Scott snapped. "I couldn't kill him, that was just wrong. I did what I had to do to save you. Don't blame me, please."

Stiles opened his mouth, and shut it right back, defeated. "What about the kids?" he asked. "Y'know, the members of his pack."

"We told them that they had a chance to live a new life outside of Beacon Hills." Lydia replied. "A life without murder spree."

"And the kani-thing will probably find a new master, but since there isn't one here, we're fine." the Sheriff continued with a smile.

"There is only one pack in Beacon Hills, and it's ours." Scott finished proudly.

Stiles stared at his hands. He slowly counted his fingers.

What if there were more than six on one hand? What if there were only four? What if-

five fingers on one hand, five fingers on the other, ten in total. He let out a breath he didn't know he kept captive in his lungs.

"So it's over?"

His dad smiled at him. "Yes, Stiles. It's over."

He couldn't bring himself to believe him.

* * *

 _No, it's not over! It may seem like it, but it isn't! :P There's a poll on my profile and I need your votes for the continuation of the story. Please vote, or else I'll have to choose for myself but I really like the idea of you chosing the path the story takes!_

 _And keep sending those nice reviews of yours! They make me write quickly :) Love ya, and see you (soon?) !_


	13. Chapter 13

_Wow. Okay. That was a long HIATUS. Didn't expect that._

 _I want to thank you guys for those kind messages you've been sending me. This chapter wouldn't have been written this fast (lol) without you!_

 _So here is the second part of Him. I hope you'll like it, and I apologize for the [SPOILER] cliffhanger. Hate me all you want, I love you. You are magical. Continue sending me reviews, my last exam is for next week and after that I'll have plenty of time to write! xoxo  
_

 _ **IMPORTANT** : out of the eleven people who voted on my poll, seven chose the first option: choosing a non-canon end for the story. I apologize for those who wanted the story to end with the beginning of the fourth season of Teen Wolf, but the majority spoke. And... Winston may not be the only important character to die. We're talking about TW and TMR, guys, and the two don't always end happily (cf Teresa, Allison)_

 _PS: I apologize for the mistakes. I tried my best._

* * *

 **Thirteenth chapter**

Five weeks. Five weeks and he only found the strength to come here now. He knew he should have come a lot sooner, but he couldn't bring himself to. How could he face her after what he did to her? How could he talk to her, apologize for the mistakes he had done and for the mistakes he was still doing, if everything was his fault and none of his goddamn apologies could bring her back to life?

He slowly walked with hesitant steps through the cemetery, holding the bouquet in his right fist. He felt nothing but a timeless ache, but there was no apparent wound to fix with a band-aid. He had told Scott he wanted to talk to her alone, and his friend had respected that, but now Stiles feared he wasn't strong enough to face her.

He stopped in front of the grave and set the new flowers against old, dead ones, where it said:

 _ALLISON MARIE ARGENT_

 _nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes, car c'est la force de l'amour qui nous fait avancer et non pas l'apathie de la haine_

And there, he began to cry.

Five weeks of suppressed feelings came to an end.

He pressed two fingers against the stone, shoulders shaking violently. His throat and his eyes burned and he looked like a mess, a pale copy of the boy he was a year ago, but finally he felt relieved.

"I'm sorry." was the first thing he said to her grave. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I tried, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

He wondered if Allison felt lonely. He wondered if she was with her mother now. He wondered if she could see _his_ mother. If so, he wondered what they could be talking about.

( _oh, Stiles tried to kill you? That's funny, Claudia, because he succeeded with me._ )

Why did he inflict this upon himself, he had no idea. Allison would never say that. Allison would grab his arms and shake him until some optimistic thoughts could finally find their way into his brain.

But he couldn't help but think that he should have been the one to spend eternity here, surrounded by dead flowers. He should have been the one to be lowered down into a coffin and to face a big block of stone. Instead he got lucky, and she died.

He cleared his throat.

"Lydia comes here from time to time. She probably tries to be the weather woman, tells you the Beacon Hills news and all that. I don't know if Isaac came here already, I haven't asked him, but I know Scott has. He doesn't tell me but I know it because his eyes are just lost, and he locks himself up in his room. I don't have a werewolf hearing, but I know he cries himself to sleep at least twice a week."

"Kira's doing well. She comes here every week to leave you flowers. She's still dating Scott. Kind of. I don't really know what their relationship is at that point, because he's still mourning you... But I know they'll be okay. Eventually. They're a horrifyingly cute couple, it's disgusting."

"So I assume you're probably bored already with that avalanche of news, so let me introduce myself: hello, I'm Stiles, and I'm a sarcastic asshat."

Humor was the only thing that allowed him not to burst in tears. So he wept on the inside, slowly, until he'll know he can't hold it in any longer and he'll let the river out.

For now, the only thing that spilled out of him are words. Words like a fountain, words like an arrow.

"Scott or Lydia probably already told you, but I've got a twin now. If you can call it like that. His name's Thomas. He's great. He's broken too, but aren't we all?" his voice trailed off and he had to cough a little. He smiled at the name on the stone. He sighed. "It all happened so fast... It seems like I know him since I'm like, two, but at the same time we met a week ago. It's just crazy."

"He comes from this parallel world, with mad scientists and zombies and shit, and believe me, yes it's as awful as it sounds because I've been there to witness it. There's this kid... Winston, he's called. Was called. I could've used your archery skills to get him out of there. But Thomas and I saved the others."

He counted his fingers, this time not to be sure he isn't dreaming.

"So there's Minho. He's this big, tall Asian with a big mouth. He's apparently the leader of their group. Then there's Newt, the right arm. It's weird, he's got this English accent, and that means they have an England out there too I guess? Sorry I'm getting off topic – there's Frypan. Melissa lets him cook sometimes because he makes the best bacon, but I haven't stayed long enough with them to take a bite because there's Thomas with them. There's Aris, I heard he's the newbie of their group, he helped them to escape the hellhole. Then there's the only girl in their group. She's called Teresa. You would've liked her, she's the warrior type."

"Teresa's now living with the Martins. Minho, Newt, Frypan and Aris are living with Scott now. Isaac used to sleep in the guest room but..."

He suddenly stopped talking and sat down in front of the grave. The grass was just starting to grow. He felt the tip of it with his palm.

"He left a few days ago. Said your dad allowed him to stay with him, took the first plane to France, and just left like that. There goes the last of Derek's betas. When he'll come back, I expect him to show up with a baguette and a plate of stinking cheese."

He was falling off the cliff. The only way to survive was to hang on humor. It was harder and harder to keep his grip on it.

A sob broke out from his throat, but he didn't shed a tear. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't die.

"You know, what happened between you and Scott in sophomore year. I always thought it was a Spanish thing. _Coup de foudre_ , is that it? Literally it translates by 'struck by lightning', and metaphorically it's 'falling in love on the spot'. Metaphors are just there to be pretty, nothing more."

"Well, I'm struck by lightning. I'm in the impossibility to do anything but just to stand there and burn. My feelings aren't even mine. Alright, I'm exaggerating, but it's true. I can't control them sometimes."

"I'm not okay."

"I could hear Thomas's voice in my head. I know he could hear mine too. It only happens when we're close to each other though, but if I'm near him, bang, we both die. Heart attack. No more sarcasm. So in order to stay alive, I can no longer see him. Well sometimes, I do see him, but it's from far away and we have to shout to talk to each other, which is really annoying – and there's my dad tailing my ass so I won't go off and try to reach out to Thomas and die. Usually I'm the one being overprotective, and I don't like when the roles are reversed."

"But there's this really weird thing... We are connected, Thomas and I. Physically if we are near each other, emotionally when we're apart. And right now, I just want to laugh."

"I know he's happy. He must be laughing at some joke Minho said or something like that, I can feel it. I should be sad, and I am, but it's becoming really hard to tell which of my feelings are real – which of the me's is me?"

"Yes, I just quoted Jamison, don't get excited because no, I still suck at philosophy."

He studied the grave in front of him, and he didn't feel as sad as he was when he first started talking. Now he felt relieved, and even relaxed. There was still this bubble of sorrow threatening to implode in his chest but he kept it away with the feeling of Thomas' laugh. He couldn't hear it, but he felt it run in his veins.

He brought his hands to his face and washed away the tears from his cheeks and chin. He most likely had a puffy, red face from all the crying, but that was okay, because it wasn't in his intention to ever cry like this again.

Stiles stared at the stone until his breath came out of his mouth in small clouds. He tightened his jacket, set his hands in his pockets. He felt cold, but warm on the inside.

"It's getting late." he said softly. "I should go back, dad's going to worry."

Instead he stayed there, enjoying the calm of the cemetery.

"It's kind of weird, isn't it?" he whispered. "We're all going to grow up, become adults if we don't die before, and you're stuck here. You won't ever know what it's like... You won't ever know. I should be jealous of you. You don't have to see Scott's face when someone mentions you, you don't have to see Lydia screaming at night when she just had a nightmare involving you, you don't have to see Kira and Isaac blaming themselves for being too weak to get to you in time, you don't have to see the whole world crumble because you're already underneath the ground."

He was too empty to cry again, so he stood up and walked back to his car.

~Ξ~

It had been a week.

An entire week spent without sweat rolling down their forehead, without their knees shaking and their legs buckling, without their eyes darting from one way to the other, trying to find an exit, a way out of a hell; it had been a peaceful week. A week filled with revival of life and normality. As normal as they could be. A week where Thomas explored the town in its last corners.

With Minho's help, he had created a map of the city, just in case, because he needed to be constantly on the move. He now knew Beacon Hills High was the core of the town, and the Hale House at the limits, in the reserve. The East Hills River and the Industry Bridge cut the town in half. East: the buildings, the bank, the hospital, Argent's old house, Eichen House, the business area. West: where most of the supernatural was happening, with the animal clinic, Scott's, Stiles's, Kira's and Lydia's houses, the town reserve, the public school, the swimming-pool, the lacrosse field. Sate Boulevard, Circle Street, Old West Road, Oakwood Road, Maybrook Street, Commerce Way, Greenyard Park, Bluebeard Impasse, these no longer held secrets from him.

He still had to find the Nemeton though. He had time, and he tried to enjoy that to the fullest.

It had been a week without seeing him.

Thomas beat 14 times Newt at this Uno game and the British kicked his ass 10 times. Lydia and Kira had forced them into shopping because they couldn't just hang around wearing Scott, Stiles or Isaac's clothes (Derek had refused lending them some and Minho was now firmly certain that it was because his spare shirts had bunny prints). Lydia had ended up paying, because her father was rich enough to live without a job and Thomas later found out that he spoiled his daughter. He didn't try to argue, he was still trying to figure out if 20 dollars was too much for a plain white t-shirt.

The truth finally exploded in their faces: they couldn't live on their own in this world. There was no one to fight, and all that mattered in life was money. And Melissa, Scott's mom, wasn't Lydia's dad rich. She was actually struggling to pay the bills and even though she didn't complain with the arrival of four new boys to the house, she still chewed her tongue hard.

"We gotta help her, man." Frypan had said one night. "She's going to work every day, and when she comes back here, she's got those huge bags under her eyes and she still tries to do more! I mean, we can do grocery shopping, cooking and crap, but we can't help her with the bills."

"I think Scott's working at the animal clinic?" Newt had whispered back.

"Yeah, but isn't he gaining like, ten dollars a month?"

"No, that's almost slavery."

"Yeah, well we should do something."

"I'm with Frypan." Aris had whispered.

"You woke me up, what the hell-" had grumbled a drowsy Minho.

"Put your perfect hair back on that pillow, sleepyhead." Newt had said with a laugh. "We'll talk to you about this tomorrow."

Of course Frypan, Newt and Aris had decided to look for a job so they could gain money and help Melissa with the rent. It wasn't that Thomas wasn't proud of his friends, he just felt that this... wasn't his life.

It was too normal, and it bothered him.

He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to wake up at 10a.m by the smell of Frypan's pancakes, he wasn't used to go out with Newt and share a Coke in the park at 12a.m, he wasn't used to play basketball and soccer with Minho in the abandoned playground from 1p.m to 4 p.m, he wasn't used to meet up with Teresa at 5, hang out with her, talk about normal things, happy things, non-survival things, how she was thinking to assist Melissa at her job-

He couldn't stay still. He had to do _something_. _Anything_. Anything but wait for life to fly by.

He went up the stairs of the Martin's porch and knocked on the door one morning. He only had to wait a few seconds before Natalie Martin opened it and smiled at him uneasily.

"Stiles." she said. "Can I help you?"

Thomas didn't try to correct her; she didn't even know her own daughter was a banshee.

"I need to see Lydia." he replied without beating around the bush. "Is she here?"

Natalie carefully nodded, tight-lipped. "Honey?" she called out. "Stiles wants to see you. And hurry up a little, you can't be late for school."

Thomas just stared at her until Lydia showed up besides her mother.

"Yes, I'm his ride." she quickly explained as she took his hand and grazed past her mother, led him upstairs where they couldn't be bothered. Once the door of her room was shut, she turned back to him, arms crossed. "What is it?"

He looked around him, slightly confused by the place. He didn't expect it to be so _pink and purple._ There was a little dog on the bed and Thomas committed the mistake to meet its glare. The dog snarled at him until Lydia shushed it.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." he started.

"Well obviously, otherwise you wouldn't be here." she sassed as she sat down on her bed. A hair straightener and makeup products were set against her vanity, and Thomas began to understand that looks seemed to be really important for Lydia.

"I meant, about what happened when Stiles and I were held by WICKED." he rectified. "I didn't tell you the whole truth. To be honest, I don't even know the whole truth myself."

She told him to hurry with her eyes.

"You know when I woke up here a week ago, you were at my bedside?" She nodded. "I asked you how you could still be alive."

"I thought you were just babbling."

"There was a girl, held by WICKED, just like us." he explained slowly, watching her reaction. "I noticed her because of her hair, and then her eyes, but what made me turn my head was her name. She was called Lydia. And she was your exact twin."

Lydia simply stared at him. Her eyebrows were slightly creased, like she was waiting for him to continue. "What happened to her?" she asked quietly.

He looked down. He didn't know how to put it. "They used her as a lab rat. She's basically brain dead. I'm sorry."

Lydia started to nod, but then she stopped. "You don't have to be. She wasn't me."

"I know that, because you didn't die. I mean, she was dead, but you're still here. How can it be?"

Lydia brought a hand to her forehead and massaged her temples with a sigh. "And I didn't feel her death either. Maybe we weren't connected. WICKED's scientists didn't do the Experimentation on her, did they?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then that means that we're safe." She met his gaze, and winced. "I mean, as long as you and Stiles stay out of trouble."

"I don't think Tom's capable of that." a voice said.

Thomas turned around and his jaw fell with surprise. "Teresa?"

She was standing in the doorway, wearing clothes he would never imagine her in: a black dress that stopped at her knees, a blue jean vest and ebony Dock Martens. Her mesmerizing blue eyes were enhanced by a smooth ink eyeliner, her cheeks were pink, her lips were red, her hands sported many shiny azure and rings, and she looked as uncomfortable as ever.

"I don't know if that's my look, Lydia." she whined. Thomas had never seen Teresa whine before, and right now all he could do was scream in his head. "It's comfy okay, but what if I need to run?"

"Please, you look amazing." Lydia shot back with a proud face. "You're wearing Martens, which are _the_ shoes you need to wear in case of emergency. And no one is going to chase after you but all the male population of Beacon Hills. Okay, maybe the rings are too much, but that jacket's a killer on you."

Teresa stared at the hair straightener like it was a torture device.

"But that's _your_ jacket!"

"I have plenty of jackets, and you are not in a situation where you can just argue and win the round, sweetheart."

Teresa turned her head to Thomas who just shook his head.

"You look great." he awkwardly said.

"See? He likes it, I like it, you wear it." the redhead happily declared. "All the guys are going to fall for you."

Teresa sighed and tugged on the dress.

"I don't know. I'm going to remove the rings, for sure." She smiled to Thomas. "It's nice to see you, Tom. You don't usually come over here."

"I just needed to say something to Lydia, then I'm off."

"I'll see you this evening, then."

She kissed his cheek and disappeared down the hall. Thomas watched her go.

"I should probably get going." he then said once she was out of his eyesight.

"Don't tell me you have something important to do."

Thomas scratched the back of his head. "Well, I don't-"

"You should come with us." she replied matter-of-factly as she stood in front of her vanity and carefully applied some bright red lipstick. Satisfied of her appearance, she patted down her purple dress to get rid of the humiliating crease in the fabric.

"Where?" he asked, feeling a little uneasy.

"Walmart." He frowned. "School, obviously." she said with a roll of her eyes.

She grabbed her pink handbag as his jaw dropped.

"But huh... I'm not supposed to go to school, I didn't even apply-"

"I'm not going to force you to go to class." she explained as she grabbed her pencil case and shoved it inside her bag. "I'm just going to show you around. Get you do something other than what you usually do, meaning run away from evil monsters."

She took him by the arm and lead him downstairs.

"Teresa's going too?"

"We... _persuaded_ the principal that she was an exchange student. Did you know she had an amazing British accent?"

"Teresa's willing to study?"

"Unlike you lazy guys."

He wanted to say that they weren't lazy, that they were busy creating the map of the town, but at the same time, what they were doing when they weren't mapping was in fact slightly boring when he thought about it. He froze in the middle of the living-room, then decided that he could survive a trip to school.

Teresa was already shotgun in Lydia's car. He took a seat behind the girls while Lydia hit the gas.

He observed the road and the other cars passing by. The students riding their bicycles at full speed to get in time to Beacon High. A girl tightening her grip around a boy's stomach as they zigzagged through the streets, laughing out loud behind their safety helmets. Two boys trying to fit on a bicycle too small for them, screaming, friendly punching each other. They fell on the sidewalk as Lydia stopped at a red light, limbs tangled. It all seemed too abnormal to Thomas's eyes. People breathed life.

He didn't usually go out in the streets at that time of the day, so he couldn't see the cortege of teens following each other on their way to school. Were they happy to know they were going to learn something knew today? Did they know that death could strike one of them at any time?

Thomas didn't know how old he was, but he knew he had to be between sixteen and seventeen, just like Stiles. He was about the students' ages.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't erase this dreadful feeling in his guts. Some kind of jealousy, maybe envy, but most of all, this question: "Why not me?" He was born in the wrong time, in the wrong dimension. He didn't belong here.

There was already a crowd of students hurrying inside the building, pressing books against their chests, heavy bags on their backs. Two boys were kissing behind a tree, a girl was throwing her pen at an other girl's head with a cry of anger, a group of friends were completing their homework in a hurry, copying answers on each other.

Teresa knocked on his window with a smile.

"You coming?" he heard her say, the sound of her voice muffled by the glass.

He opened the door and was hit by the roar of the students.

"It's overwhelming, isn't it? But the good kind." she said at his side, she too looking at Life.

Lydia waved at him to follow. He mechanically obeyed. He passed the two lovers snogging behind the tree and someone slapped his shoulder.

"How you doin' Stiles? Better?" a boy said, already scurrying away.

He watched him go with a frown and Lydia smiled uneasily.

"Stiles used to be extremely unpopular here, but since he's best friend with the lacrosse champion, aka Scott..."

"Are you popular?" Thomas asked, turning his head to see a girl winking at him.

Lydia didn't reply.

"Hey, Scott!" she called out.

Blinded by the sun, Thomas squinted to see Scott McCall getting off his bike, helmet between his hands. When he saw the three of them, his face broke into a giant grin. He raised a hand to wave at them.

"How are you guys?" he asked, beaming, as he stopped in front of them.

"I brought Thomas with us." Lydia announced, smiling.

"I can see that." Scott patted Thomas' shoulder and he nodded. "You're showing him around?"

"I'd like him to get used to the place, and most of all, try to make him smile." she said.

Thomas frowned. "I'm sorry, I can smile."

"Then prove it."

Thomas turned to her and exaggerated a fake grin. "Happy now?"

"You should apply to drama class."

Scott chuckled. "Alright, I'm gonna leave you at this hard task, I see Kira over there and she's probably lost again."

While he was walking to the entrance of the building, Thomas stared at the flow of students, worried for a brown head to appear.

"Stiles doesn't come around here anymore." Lydia softly said, seeing the look on his face.

"Why?"

"His father says he's still recovering from the Nogitsune and what happened with you."

Teresa linked her fingers with his. "I'm sure he's fine, Tom."

He slowly nodded, and then softly smiled down at her. "If he wasn't, I would have felt it."

~Ξ~

"I'm fine."

It was the sixth time he said it today, and he only woke up two hours ago. Stiles tightened his grip on the paint roller between his fingers and stared at the white wall of his room. It used to be grayish, but a few days ago, he had decided to change it. To change everything. He had started by tearing all the frames off the wall, the photos of the murders, the red strings. He had moved the bed away, then the desk, and painted the walls white.

It was clean. It helped him fix himself.

"Wanna tell me why you're painting everything pale green?" his dad asked as if to fill the silence with the sound of his voice.

Stiles applied the paint roller on the wall with a secure hand, and started working.

"Green is for solved." he quietly said. "It's clearing my head."

He felt a gentle pat on his head and knew that it was his father's way to let him know he loved him.

Stiles turned at him and let the corners of his mouth twitch. He waited for him to be out of the room to run the roller up and down the wall again, letting the winter fade behind the spring.

"Hey."

He let out a holler and green splashed on the wall and on his t-shirt. One hand gripping the fabric of his shirt where his heart beat rapidly, he turned to his window.

"What the hell, man?!"

Minho shrugged and held out a Coke, the bottom half of his body hanging outside of the window. "Newt wanted to get you this."

"You're okay up there, Stiles?" his dad called out from the first floor.

"Yeah, I tripped!" he replied, sending knives with his eyes to Minho who just looked like it entering in people's houses by the window was an everyday thing. "Just go to work, dad!"

"I hate you" he mouthed to the Asian teen.

"Yeah, that's what you keep telling me." Minho replied with the face of someone who couldn't care less.

Stiles put the roller into the bucket of green paint and bent down to be at Minho's height. "For the love of God, what are you doing here?"

"I like watching over you."

"Really?"

Minho smacked Stiles' forehead with the can in his hand. "No, dumbass. I told you, I'm bringing you a Coke."

"Okay..." Stiles said uneasily as he took the can. "But why?"

"Are you deaf? It's Newt's gift."

"Well, where's he?"

Stiles looked down and saw the blonde teen waving at him. He snorted.

"No, really, you aren't here to bring me a freaking Coke, what's the matter?"

"You're one complicated shank. But you're right." Minho let himself lose his grip and landed perfectly on his feet two meters down. "We need you to find the Nemeton for us. It's the last location we have to complete on our map."

Stiles stared at him for a couple of seconds before blinking furiously. "You do know that I have no idea where it is, right?"

"C'mon, Scott told us you've already found it in the past, you can do it again." Newt argued.

"It was two months ago! In a vision!"

"But you've been there, and you're the only one with Mr Wolf who approximately knows where it is, and the bloke's busy."

Stiles sighed. He really enjoyed the idea of painting his room all morning.

"And you couldn't ask me sooner?"

"Not with Thomas around, no." Minho replied soberly.

Stiles looked at the large stain of dark green on the white wall. "What do I get in return?"

Minho high-fived Newt. "The Coke."

Stiles smiled appreciatively. "Works for me. But I'm taking the stairs though. Not everyone's a suicidal brawny crank like you are. Pun intended."

~Ξ~

"Stilinski!"

Thomas instinctively ducked, and only looked up after a few seconds when he saw that no one was attempting to put an end to his life. A man was coming their way and the first things the teenager noticed about him were his messed up ink hair, his flailing arms and his fiery eyes.

Scott, a hand on Kira's back, winced. "Now's not really a good time, Coach."

"Shut your mouth, McCall, and get your ass to my class." then the mad teacher turned to Thomas and pointed an aggressive finger at him. "You."

The runner waited for further explanation.

"You." the man repeated. "Where the hell have you been."

Thomas opened his mouth to answer but Scott beat him to it. "He was sick."

Lydia took over. "Yeah, remember how he went missing for a few days?"

"I remember getting struck by an arrow when he came back." Coach angrily yelled.

"That really wasn't his fault." Kira said, trying to be helpful even though the teacher probably didn't remember her name.

"He had to go to the hospital, Coach." Scott explained.

"Well I had to go to the hospital too, and I'm still coming to work! I haven't seen this little bastard in two or three weeks."

"I was sick." replied Thomas like this was the answer to every question in the universe.

"Yeah? Well you aren't anymore, Bilinski."

Scott rolled his eyes so hard they almost fell out. "Coach, we've been your student for three years now."

"I don't need your advice, McDougal. You two-" he stopped to count them. "No, you four, to class. Now."

"But-"

"CLASS."

They stroded to Econ, and Thomas briefly wondered how it was possible for Scott to enucleate an old werewolf and then kowtow in front of a weird teacher at the same time. This world wasn't logical. To be honest, if this 'coach' had lived in the his world, he would have probably died on the first day, when the solar flares burned up the Earth.

He knew he could escape. He could run away and hide around the corner. The teacher didn't seem quick, he could easily outsmart him. But something told him that it wasn't a good idea and that it could have repercussions on Stiles.

Honestly, screw the education system.

That's what he told himself half an hour ago, bored to death and his legs tingling with the need to move. Even though the memories of the person he used to be pre-maze had already started to fade, he was certain that he wasn't a nice little soldier who passed days sitting on an uncomfortable chair, taking notes about a subject he didn't give a single crap about.

Kira offered him comforting smiles from time to time, but all he could think of is what he could have been doing right now instead of dreaming awake.

God, he needed to stretch.

His leg gave him a sharp pain and he winced.

Yep, definitely not patient.

He started to doze off a few minutes later, barely acknowledging Teresa's well hidden chuckles as his messy writing on Stiles's copybook blurred and turned to white. He closed his eyes.

" _WHAT THE HELL IS THIS THING!_ "

Thomas's chest constricted and he felt like a dozen bees were inside his neural system, stinging inside. He woke up with a jolt, scaring half of the class including the teacher, looked around him as he expected a monstrous griever ready to impale them all.

Nothing. It was just as normal as this world was.

He stood up. All the eyes were on him.

"Thomas." murmured Scott. "What's it?"

"You okay, Stilinski?" asked Finstock.

Thomas closed his eyes, erasing the whispers around him, focusing on what was inside of him. Or what was inside of _other him_.

" _RUN!_ "

He followed the order, and stormed out of the class before anyone could restrain him.


	14. Chapter 14

_I've never written that fast... also this chapter is slightly shorter, but I had fun writing it!_

 _Wakagimi: YOU CHANGED YOUR USERNAME! Wow, I almost didn't recognize you! :D The graveyard scene was made for that purpose. I wrote it right after I finished the twelvth chapter actually, and it stayed in my files during two other months before I eventually wrote the rest, so I had time to improve it ^^ And you can't know how much I've wanted to write Coach versus Thomas, it's _ gold _. Plus, Coach is a lot of fun to play with, he's really dumb (no offense for the Coach stans). I KNOW RIGHT I AM GOING TO HELL WITH THESE CLIFFHANGERS I LOVE MYSELF SOMETIMES_

 _Lovely : I love chesus too ;) And don't worry, we're on the same boat, I kill myself with these cliffhangers too. Love your anon name by the way, is this supposed to tell me something? ^^_

 _fadingshadowss: Heyy you're still there and writing me reviews! Thank you!_

 _DG3n3sys1702: Wow! Thank you so much for those compliments, it literally made me want to write the end of that chapter. I'm so glad you feel that way because it's really the feeling I want people to have when reading this fanfiction. Of course I feel like it's really bad because I struggle with the language, but thank you so much (I can't say that enough) for giving me hope! Please bring me some more, I need it like air.  
_

 _I need reviews, guys! You're now 110 to follow Him, I'm sure you can stop a second and send a quick review, it doesn't bite at all! Enjoy this chapter now ;)_

* * *

 **Fourteenth chapter**

Minho kicked an abandoned bottle of alcohol on the side of the road, sending it rolling between some bushes. Newt rolled his eyes at his action.

"How far are we from this bloody tree?" he asked. "My leg hurts."

Stiles shrugged blandly. "It's somewhere around us." he replied with a vague gesture. "To the right - no, left. I think..." He squinted his eyes as he rummaged through his memories. "Left. Definitely the left. It can't be too far away, the woods aren't as big as your maze."

"See, that's the reason I quit the job." groaned Newt, tempted to imitate Minho's action toward an innocent bottle but there weren't any in their path anymore.

"You were a runner?" Stiles asked, impressed. "Like Thomas?"

"I used to be, yeah." the British said. Stiles waited for him to continue his explanation but Newt didn't seem keen on talking about his past.

But the thing is, Stiles loved to intrude people's lives and it wasn't Newt's muteness that was going to stop him. He sniffed loudly from the nose as if he had a cold, and turned his prying gaze to Minho.

"Why did he quit?" he asked the big guy in a whisper once he got closer to him to the point where Minho's personal space was almost violated.

He could almost feel electricity in the air as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Minho lowered his eyes at him, and Stiles suddenly felt a whole lot smaller even though he was almost the guy's height.

The teen nodded quickly. "Okay. Okay. I get it. Personal matter. None of my business. I need to be at least level eight friends with you to unlock your extremely dark past, and I'm only at like, level four since we came to know each other in particularly weird and sinister circumstances."

Minho looked over at Newt, who seemed as weirded out as him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're not familiar with humor, then?" Stiles babbled.

"That wasn't humor, shuck face, that was pure incoherence. Talk English next time."

"Will do." he said, unable to keep a straight face. "We're gonna have to turn left."

"We're getting off the road?" Newt worried.

"You wanted to find the Nemeton? Well we're gonna have to get at least a little lost." Stiles explained, crossing the barrier of trees that marked out the road. "It's a supernatural tree that's ten hundred thousand years older than Beacon Hills, and you have no idea how powerful it is. So one thing is sure: it's the tree that's gonna find us, not the other way around."

"You've done your research pretty good." Minho noted, slapping a tiny branch that was coming for his face instead of just ducking.

"I had to. I'm known to be the research-man." he joked, tangling his feet in ferns. He pushed them back, trying not to fall pathetically in front of two guys who survived a zombie apocalypse. Yes, Stiles felt quite lame in front of Minho and Newt, but who could blame him? He had a hard time swinging a bat while these two chopped off heads. Maybe not daily, but still.

After what seemed to be an eternity of wandering and hoping they'll eventually fall on it, he stopped in his tracks and sat against a birch struck by lightning. He opened the coke with one hand, winced when the foam spurt on his face and almost choked when he took a mouthful.

"Already tired?" Minho sassed, staring down at him.

Newt snorted. "We've been walking non-stop for a long time, mate. And he was in a coma a week ago. Let him live." He reached for his backpack and pulled out of it three protein bars. He threw the first two to Minho and Stiles, and kept the last one to himself. "C'mon, a break won't end us. We are in the normal world now – if you can say so."

Minho took a deep breath in and decided that a pause wouldn't be lethal. He sat down reluctantly under Newt's amused watch.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence punctuated by birds chirping and the boys' chewing, Stiles decided to abruptly cut the ice.

"So have you ever had a girlfriend?"

Newt and Minho both stopped chewing at the same time and stared at Stiles like he had suddenly grown a second head.

"Seriously?" the Asian said, now completely fed up with this spaz.

"I was just wondering!" he replied for his defense. "Can't I be at least slightly curious? Everything I say always backfires at me, for the love of god..."

"One day a big bad villain is gonna kill him because he'd think that bringing up the time where he was tit-sucking his mummy would be relevant." Newt said, absently chewing his protein bar.

Offended, Stiles opened his mouth to once again let out an other spit of sarcasm. "Well maybe that villain needed a reminder that he used to be an innocent kid!"

"Oh come on, no one's innocent!" Newt yelled, now pointing angrily his food at Stiles. "No one on this bloody planet is some nice, selfless soul!"

"You think I don't know that?" he replied, quirking his eyebrows.

"Look." started Minho, raising both hands in a sign of peace. "I'm usually the first down for a fight, but right now it's not what we need."

Newt sighed. "Thank you for your input, peace-maker."

Stiles takes one last bite from his protein bar. "So about the dating thing?"

Minho almost threw his flask at his head. "I'm gonna shucking crush your shucking-"

"That was a rhetorical question!" Stiles justified himself, raising his arms to protect his face. He slowly lowered his hands once he saw that Minho was progressively calming down thanks to Newt's glare on him. It was then obvious that he couldn''t help but speak up again. "But did you?"

"Shuck your bloody mouth, you buggin' idiot." Newt exploded as Minho gave the boy a perfect middle finger.

"That's a no, then." Stiles smiled, well decided to make their life a living hell. He had fun picking on Isaac, but now that the blond was gone and Scott was used to his attitude, he really enjoyed bantering with his new-found victims. Victims that were more scary than Isaac, but he had threatened a powerful, though old, hunter one day and came out alive but with stitches. Pain didn't scare him anymore, not when it was done to him.

"Well did you?" Newt asked, turning the situation around.

Stiles frowned. "Did I what?"

"Did you date?"

Stiles's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. An incomprehensible stutter came out of his throat and the two Gladers snorted in front of his fluster. "Huh, no." he managed to say.

"Doesn't surprise me, you're an ugly shank." Minho replied, happy to take his revenge on him.

"A few girls tried!" Stiles quickly said. He had self-esteem, after all.

"Oh, they were probably blind then."

Stiles faked a laugh. "Yeah, thank you for boosting my self-confidence."

"Any time."

Newt stretched his bad leg with a wince of pain. He took his flask, poured some water on the hollow of his palm, and smudged his face with it. The fresh liquid woke him a little. He was about to drink what was left in his flask when Stiles looked up suddenly. After a week and a half spent with Stiles and Thomas both having odd visions about each other, he had learned that this kind of reaction was not to be treated lightly.

"What is it?" he asked as Stiles messily got on his feet. "Thomas?" he inquired.

"No, it's not him."

"What is it then?"

Minho packed up silently their expedient picnic and slid his bag back up on his shoulders. He rose quickly. "What do you hear?"

"It's not me." Stiles slowly said, face painted by realization.

"Yeah, we got that, but-" Minho froze and wondered for an instant if his hearing was not deficient.

Newt stood up as well and turned around, searching for where the sound was coming from. "I hear it too." he murmured.

"I suggest running." Stiles proposed nervously. "The sooner would be better."

A buzzing, like flaps of distant bee wings. Coming closer every second. Newt pulled a sharp knife out of his backpack without wasting any more time and flashed it.

"Wow, where is that coming from?" Stiles yelled.

"Melissa's kitchen." the blond replied, twirling the knife between his fingers. "Old habits."

"What, stealing from the kitchen?"

"Yep."

A sudden wind took them by surprise and tore their clothes and air, bringing to them the foreign smell of wind and dust that had nothing to do in the middle of Beacon Hills' woods. A sharp hiss came with the gust, cutting through the air from all directions, piercing their eardrums. Stiles clamped his hands to the sides of his head as a pack of birds previously hidden at the crown of the trees suddenly flied away as fast as they could.

 _We're gonna die_ , he thought very optimistically.

"What the hell is this thing!" Minho shouted over the noise.

Newt and Stiles turned to see at what he was staring at with such wide eyes.

It was a monster. Couldn't be anything else, or maybe some sort of hybrid. It was a few feet in front of them, floating in mid-air between the trees with four powerful wings made of brown skin, allowing him to maneuver easily between the trees. Its body resembled a bat's, only its tail was one of a giant demon's, like a whip ready to flagellate. It instantly reminded Stiles of a kanima, but the resemblance ended there.

"I think we should run?" he said, but his voice was nothing but a tiny murmur in the horrifying screech the creature was making.

The monster was simply looking at them, hovering between earth and sky, like waiting. It gave Stiles more time to examine it, notice the red eyes staring at the three small humans, the claws jingling at the end of long and slim arms, probably made to catch and rip.

The boys could just stare in horror as the creature ended its long scream. Finally, like emerging from an intense drowsiness, they shook themselves and tore their eyes off the thing, and-

"RUN!" Minho screamed, and the others obeyed instantly.

They stormed off without even attempting to fight it, leaving behind a few crisps of their protein bars.

~Ξ~

Lydia was carefully applying the brush against the canvas when she felt it. A familiar tugging at the back of her head.

"Kira." she said slowly.

The brush escaped from her fingers and fell on the carpet of the art class with a _thud_. The dark-haired girl looked at her in worry.

"You okay?"

Lydia nodded softly, feeling an other pull at the back of her head, this one more powerful.

"Can you tell the teacher I'm not feeling well and accompany me to the nurse office?" she said.

Kira's mouth opened in a perfect O. She nodded quickly and stood up with a wince, raising a hand. "Sir, I think Lydia's going to be sick."

The strawberry blonde was already up and was heading to the door. The teacher had little choice but to accept, so Kira ran off to catch up to her friend.

"Is this a banshee feeling?" she asked worryingly, twisting her hands.

Lydia's blank stare was enough to answer her question.

Because Beacon Hills was a small town and fate was a thing, they ran into Scott and Thomas in front of the school. Scott had his hands on Thomas's shoulders, apparently trying to make him look at him in the eye to calm him down, but the boy's eyes were shut tight and his lips were twitching.

Kira raced to Scott. "What's happening?!"

"It must be about Stiles!" Scott replied helplessly.

Thomas' next words confirmed his theory. " _It touched him..._ " he said, teeth clenched as if he was in pain.

"What touched him?" Scott inquired, shaking him. "Thomas! What touched Stiles?!"

But Thomas simply clamped his hands against his side and doubled over, no sound but a groan coming out of his mouth.

"Scott." Kira called out, reaching out for him as she looked at Lydia.

"Thomas!" Scott shouted, kneeling to be at his height. "Hey, are you okay? What's going on? Is he injured?"

"Scott!" she cried out. "Lydia's leaving!"

Scott looked up and finally had a glimpse of Lydia going off on her own. He then looked at Thomas who was trying to control his breathing, and made up his mind.

"Kira, take Lydia to your car and let her be shotgun. Take the wheel, and Thomas and I will be on the back seat."

Without wasting any more time, she nodded and went off right as Teresa stepped out of the school. She saw Thomas, obviously in pain on the asphalt, and Scott comforting him.

"Tom!" she cried out as she ran to them, blessing the Doc Martens at her feet. "What happened?"

"It's Stiles." Scott explained quickly as the boy was trying to straighten. Kira, on the control of her car, pulled over next to them and the Alpha helped Thomas to go on the backseat. When Teresa tried to join them, he stopped her. "No, it's too dangerous."

"There's enough room for me!" she yelled.

"I need you to warn my mom and your friends that something's happening so they can be ready, just in case." he elucidated, and she still flew furiously by the nose, clearly not enjoying being left behind. "Please." he begged. "It's not that we don't need you, it's just that the others need you more. You're the messenger. Please."

Teresa looked at Thomas. He looked back at her. Tried to smile. She nodded reluctantly.

"Okay. But don't any of you dare die."

"Scott!" Kira cried out. "Lydia's losing patience!"

"We won't." Scott promised. He took Teresa's hand and squeezed it, like a promise. "No one will die, not on my watch."

With this, he shut the door. Teresa shifted as the engine roared and left her on her own on the sidewalk.

~Ξ~

Stiles collapsed once more but Minho wouldn't just leave him behind. He took the teen by the arm and forced him up, yelled at him to run until he couldn't anymore, but Stiles already couldn't.

He clamped a hand to his side, wincing in pain. He could feel the slice on his skin under his torn shirt, and the little hole in which had lodged the needle. When the creature had charged at them and thrown its devil tail at Stiles, they were far away from thinking that this tail was thorny, and that these thorns hurt like a bitch and numbed whoever they stroke.

"Why is it always me?" he complained. He felt like his mouth was filled with gum.

"Slim it and run!"

His legs were shaking and could barely support his weight. He really only worked on adrenalin, and he wondered for an instant if it wasn't also his and Thomas' connection that helped him.

Minho ran alongside him during a few more minutes, zigzagging between the trees, trying to outrun the creature, until he pushed Stiles on the side, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him between the enormous roots of a large stump. Stiles didn't dare complain about the manhandling, he just kept his mouth shut and tried to make his legs to stop shaking as Minho hid himself next to him.

"You seen Newt?" the runner asked in a murmur.

Stiles shook his head carefully. Minho looked around them in an attempt to find either the monster hunting them or the blond running away from the monster hunting them.

"He must have tried to lure it away from us." he groaned. "This shuck-head's gonna get himself killed." He then turned toward Stiles, stuck between two roots. "You can walk?"

"No idea." the boy winced as he moved a foot painfully. "I can move."

"Awesome."

He grabbed Stiles' arm and got him up on his feet, then shoved him forwards. Stiles only had the time to look back before they were once again thrown into the wild.

"Hey, we were on the Nemeton-"

"Too late for that." Minho panted. "DUCK!"

Stiles dived and Minho spun away, rolling as the creature with its claws ready to grasp missed them by an inch. One of Melissa's knives in hand, he went to stab it, missing each time.

"Don't stop!" he yelled at Stiles whose mouth was invaded by dirt.

Stiles pushed on his arms, however he found out soon enough that he was too weak to even stand up. He tried once more to get up out of rage, but his body wouldn't respond.

"I hate poison." he groaned before his head dropped.

Minho let out a cry of battle and spun, crouched close to the ground, stabbed, jabbed, thrust his knife but the creature was just too fast. And just as it was about to catch Minho with one if its elongated arms, a blurry form charged at it and literally _impaled_ it.

Newt twisted the kitchen knife into the open wound and the monster screeched, even loudlier than before, flapped its wings angrily like trying to slap its killer with them, before it touched the ground and fell. Newt let go of the knife and it stayed into the twitching creature whose scream was slowly dying. One last twitch and it stopped moving, one last twitch and the body disintegrated before them, leaving behind a clean blade.

Newt stood there, breathing in and out rapidly, and Minho slowly got back to his feet, patted his friend's shoulder in a thank you.

"Can someone get me off the ground?" Stiles called out with a wince.

Minho gestured for Newt to go. "I can't deal with him any longer. I only saved his ass because Thomas would have died if I hadn't."

"Why, thank you." Stiles sarcasmed as Newt took him by the armpits and helped him up, then held him against a tree until he could feel his legs again. "Anyone wonder why it didn't try to sting Minho? Because it had plenty of time to do so, but it kept attacking him, not just stabbing and flying away like it did with me."

"I also wonder what the hell that was. Ever heard of it?" the blond asked, rubbing his knee in pain.

"First time I see one."

Newt got the knife back and held it in his clenched fist just in case. "For now, let's head back."

"That's an excellent decision, captain."

"And slim it before Minho kills you."

"I can do that too."

~Ξ~

"Are we getting closer, Lydia?" Scott asked.

Lydia's gaze was still locked on something far away they couldn't see. She didn't answer. Kira glanced at her worryingly.

"I've only seen her in that state once." she commented, trying to loosen the tension. "It's kinda terrifying."

"She doesn't like it either." Scott said with a tight smile.

"We're in the forest." Thomas noted. "Minho wanted to map it." The pain at his side had slowly disappeared and turned into numbness – he didn't know if it meant good news or not. For now, he didn't try to think about what might have happened even though his mind raced on its own. "Maybe Stiles is with him, you told me what happened with the tree."

"Yeah, it wasn't pretty." Scott winced, observing the infinite road rolling out before them. "Let's just hope that the Nemeton is the origin of the problem this time."

Before they had time to react, a dishevelled figure appeared out of nowhere in front of the car. Kira yelped and turned the wheel violently. The car jerked to the side and almost crashed into a maple before she pressed the brake with all the strength of her heel.

Thomas opened the door of the car as soon as it was stopped and fuming, and got out of the vehicle. Minho was on him instantly.

"We nearly ran over you!" Thomas cried out.

Minho seemed more preoccupied by other things than his almost-death. "Care to give us a lift?" he panted, doubling over to get his breath back.

"Yeah, but where are-"

"Here." he heard behind him.

Newt and Stiles appeared between the trees, the blond supporting the brunet. Both were limping now. Thomas understood now why his side had hurt.

Scott and Kira slammed their car door shut, but Lydia stayed inside.

And started screaming.

A loud screech covered her scream and split the air so loudly that Thomas looked up so fast he thought he had snapped his neck. His eyes drifted upwards where a crack in thin air was opening, frozen lightning, a crack opening to an other dimension. But it wasn't what caught his eye first.

He watched, hypnotized, as a creature like dragon fell toward him, its expandable arms and sharp claws coming straight for him. Newt appeared in the corner of his vision and he barely noticed him until his body collided with his and shoved him back into the car. He stumbled backwards and fell, head hitting painfully the side of the car door, just as the creature landed on top of Newt, pinning his body; and finally taking it between its large hands, not even stabbing him in the slightest, simply take him and flying away, right into the crack between the two dimensions. He heard Newt's last scream before it closed, somehow covering the thing's victory screech and Lydia's cry.

"No!" he shouted, but he knew it was already over and there was no going back.

His heart banged against his rib cage, and deep down he knew it was because he was standing way too close from Stiles, but right now it didn't matter. He had just lost his best friend. Again.

As Lydia's scream ended, his just began.


End file.
